


You've Got My Number

by dizzywhiz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Internet friendship, Klaine Advent 2020, M/M, NYADA!Klaine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzywhiz/pseuds/dizzywhiz
Summary: Kurt hates music theory, and music theory hates him, too. He decides he needs a tutor if he doesn't want to flunk out of NYADA, which he very much doesn't, so - enter Blaine.Meanwhile, warblersong and sirelphaba have been internet friends since the early days of social media, having met on the Broadway musical side of Twitter. Years later, they're still friends - and years later, they barely know anything about each other.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 238
Kudos: 172
Collections: Klaine Advent 2020





	1. abashed

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello! I was back and forth about participating in the klaine advent, and I decided to...a little late :-) I'll catch up, I promise!
> 
> I may be biting off more than I can chew with this, but I'm going to do my best to keep up. this is actually an adaptation of a non-fic sort of outline I'd made for something else long ago, but I decided it would work for this!
> 
> we'll see how it goes!

“Rachel, I need help.”

Kurt’s whining, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. His head is spinning with major chords and minor chords and cadences and more analysis than he ever knew possible, and he can’t take it anymore.

He’s looking down at the spread of notes surrounding his textbook, all over the kitchen table, and he groans, deep from his throat. The staff lines are crossing, and the noteheads are all blurring together, and every single thing he’s written on his worksheet looks _wrong._

“What, are you just now figuring that out?” Rachel teases him as she putters around the kitchen, rifling through the cabinet for a mug. 

“Just- who even _invented_ music theory? Why does it have to be so- so impossible?” Kurt complains, burying his face in his hands, questioning every choice he’s ever made. “All I want is to sing…”

“Honestly, Kurt, I don’t know how you do it without having perfect pitch like I do,” Rachel says matter-of-factly, that way that makes Kurt’s skin crawl with the near-irresistible burn to strangle her. He hates when she gets like this, uppity and bragging without even _trying_ to be, like everything she’s saying about herself is factually true, unable to be disproven, leaving Kurt without a real reason to be angry with her.

And Rachel’s perfect pitch is undoubtedly one of those things.

“Can you help me or _not?”_

Maybe he doesn’t even want her to anymore - but he needs her to.

He really, really does.

“Sorry, no can do!” Rachel says without taking a moment to even truly consider it. “I barely have the time for my own homework, let alone helping hold you up above the competition. _Which,_ by the way- you may be a semester late, but you know as well as I do that it’s getting stiffer and stiffer. If you’re already having this much trouble, you should probably get a tutor before you fall behind even-”

“I _know,_ alright? I get it.” Of course he gets it. He only spent the several months after his failed audition beating himself up, and then his entire first semester with his foot on the gas in a desperate attempt to catch up. “I just… I don’t know what to do. Who would I even ask?”

Rachel seems to take pity on him, _finally,_ and she softens, cocking her head to the side as she studies him for a long moment, sighing deeply.

“Is there someone in your class, maybe?”

He thinks about it. 

There aren’t many people he knows in his theory class - since he started a semester late, he’s off the typical theory circuit, meaning most of his peers are overachieving freshmen that tested out of intro level and were directly into Music Theory 201. They leave him alone, more or less, huddled in their own little groups, scribbling notes and always answering correctly whenever the professor calls on them.

There _is_ one guy Kurt’s noticed, though.

He’s hard not to notice, actually, at least in class - his hand is always first in the air to provide answers, and he always asks smart, thoughtful questions, and he seems like he actually _cares._

And he’s cute. _Really_ cute.

Kurt has no idea what he’s like outside of theory, if he’s rude and snobby or if he has hundreds of friends or if he’s a homophobe or- or anything, really.

But he might be Kurt’s only hope of passing.

So he should probably ask.

“Yeah… Maybe.”

Maybe.

* * *

It takes Kurt a week to work up the courage.

He isn’t _afraid_ of the guy in his class, per se, and he isn’t too prideful to ask for help, either.

Actually, he has no idea why he keeps putting it off.

But then they have a pop aural skills quiz, and he bombs it, and he knows he has to suck it up and do it.

The worst the guy can say is no.

So Kurt swallows the little pride he _does_ have left, and he hitches his messenger bag’s strap over his shoulder, holds on tight, and makes his way over to the guy’s desk as soon as class gets out.

The guy is still sitting in his chair, gathering his things and neatly placing him into his backpack - he doesn’t seem to be in a rush, which is good, and it makes Kurt feel a little less guilty about bothering him.

“Um, hi,” Kurt says once he approaches, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’m Kurt.”

“Oh!” The guy startles a little, and he looks up at Kurt with a questioning yet bright smile, shaking Kurt to his core because he’s- he’s beautiful. He looks friendly, kind, and his hair looks curly and soft, and his eyes look like they’re made of honey, somehow, and Kurt has to remind himself how to breathe, how to listen, just as the guy speaks again.

“My name’s Blaine. Um, nice to meet you.”

_Blaine._

Nice, slightly uncommon, reminiscent of the eighties movies Kurt’s mom used to love, sounds like a name he wants to say.

He wants to say it, wants to feel it on his tongue, learn it like a melody, but _Blaine_ is still looking up at him, a question in his eyes, and Kurt knows.

It’s showtime.

“I, uh. I have a favor to ask.” He winces at the way it sounds somehow vague and blunt at the same time, wishes he’d made a little small talk, wishes he’d never even tried in the first place. He draws in a breath, and he exhales slowly, and he puts on a smile, pushing forward. “I… Kind of suck at music theory. I’m a singer, so I-I’ve never really _needed_ it, you know? A-Anyways, you seem really smart, and you’re probably really busy, but I...think I need help.”

 _God,_ he needs help. Help shutting up, for one thing.

But Blaine just ducks his head, letting out a small huff of a laugh, and when he looks up, he seems oddly abashed, in a way, his cheeks more flushed now and his eyes a little brighter.

“I-I’m not that smart,” he shrugs, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “But, um. Of course I could help, I’d be happy to. It’s… It’s actually kind of fun once you get the hang of it. At least, _I_ think it is.”

Kurt highly doubts it - in fact, he’s willing to bet no other student in all of NYADA actually _enjoys_ music theory, and he nearly says as much, but he stops himself. 

Blaine is very quickly becoming his musical savior, and Kurt has no idea why he's is so readily willing to help, but he’s not about to pass it up, either. 

So Kurt smiles, nervously tugging on the strap of his bag, and he nods just once, trying to keep his cool - when really, he can’t decide whether he wants to crawl in a hole from embarrassment or drop out or laugh or cry or fall at Blaine’s feet and promise to do anything he asks if he can just get Kurt a passing grade. 

He files the last one away for later, maybe, but instead of giving into anything else, he pulls out his phone. 

“I have a class in a few minutes, but, uh. Can I get your number, and I’ll text you about it later?” he asks, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, nervous just from the sheer act of asking a cute guy’s phone number, regardless of the sheer practicality in the reason for it. 

“And, um, thank you,” he adds in a rush, snapping out of his nerves and remembering his manners. “I’ll, um. I’ll find a way to repay you, I promise. Just… Thank you.”

Blaine stays quiet as he inputs his number, tapping away at Kurt’s phone screen, but he stays smiling, too, giving Kurt a little shrug once he’s done. 

“I promise,” he says, finally standing up and pulling his own bag over his shoulder. “I really don’t mind at all.”

And somehow, Kurt believes him.

* * *

**_warblersong:_ ** _Hey, Elphie. It’s been awhile! I just wanted to see how you’re doing, hope to hear back soon :)_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Warb! Hi! Sorry to go MIA on you. I’ve been crazy busy lately...who knew 200 level classes were harder than intros?_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Hmm...what a concept! I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. You’ll do great :)_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _I know you don’t like talking about...real life stuff, but I’m always here if you need someone to talk to. You know that, right?_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _I do know that, and I appreciate it :) who would’ve thought we’d still be chatting after all these years, huh? I think I’ll be okay, though._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Now, world’s greatest anonymous internet friend, have you gotten your October copy of Vogue yet?_

**_warblersong is typing..._ **


	2. brakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the response on the first chapter! this story should be a lot of fun, I hope!
> 
> and this should be obvious, but just to be clear, any warblersong/sirelphaba interactions occur chronologically within the context of the rest of the chapter, aka after the scenes beforehand!

Kurt isn’t entirely sure that Blaine is real.

Of course, he’s not entirely sure, either, what Blaine would be if he _weren’t_ real - some sort of robot, maybe, or an android, or maybe he’s just some sort of theory genius planted into an underclassman group for a weird experiment.

Because he’s just really, really nice.

He’s nice enough, actually, that he’s insisting that he won’t take Kurt’s money, and he’ll do it all for free because it’ll be _good experience -_ for what, Kurt isn’t sure - and he swears he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

Kurt doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t get _Blaine._

But Blaine’s _really nice,_ to the point where Kurt catches himself smiling at his phone as they text, even though it should just be mundane logistical details more than anything else, just figuring out what day, which coffee shop, nothing personal.

He’s really just smiling because Blaine’s niceness is refreshing, and it’s already making Kurt feel a little less stressed out about his theory grade, and that’s it. Those are the only reasons. 

But of course, that’s exactly when Rachel chooses to come home - and she catches him smiling, too.

Great. 

“Kurt!” she exclaims, hurriedly toeing off her flats before rushing over to him, clasping her hands together, and Kurt braces himself, sitting up straighter and dropping his phone onto the couch beside him. “How did it go? Are you texting your new tutor? Wait- Why do you look like that? Is he _cute? Ooh,_ maybe we can go on double dates when Finn visits in December and-” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Pump the brakes, alright?” Kurt cuts in, overwhelmingly flooded with embarrassment and foolishness and- _possibility,_ actually, because what if… But no. “It’s not- It’s nothing. Yes, Blaine is helping me out. With _theory._ And that’s it.”

That’s really it. 

They’ll have a few awkward, on-topic sessions at the nearby Starbucks, and Kurt will look like a helpless idiot when Blaine realizes how lost he truly is, and Blaine will do his best to help but likely end up politely letting Kurt know that he must simply be missing the gene that allows of music theory comprehension, and it’s probably better if he quits while he’s ahead. 

And then they’ll go back to just being classmates. 

Until Kurt flunks out.

“Sure, Kurt. Theory,” Rachel scoffs, rolling her eyes at him before she turns to walk the short distance to the kitchen. “You just keep telling yourself that!”

“I mean it,” Kurt bites back in self defense, his tone coming out harsher than Rachel truly deserves. He sighs, checking himself, and he softens his voice when he adds, “This is strictly professional.”

Rachel just hums in response, and there’s enough of a pause for Kurt to start wondering if the conversation’s over, if she’s really letting him off the hook this easily. 

But then she turns back, a small, knowing smile on her face and a glint in her eye, and Kurt knows.

It’s not over.

 _“Is_ he cute, though?” she wants to know, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows, and Kurt knows she’s one wrong move away from demanding to know every single thought that’s crossed his mind about Blaine, and he doesn’t want that.

Not when he isn’t entirely sure himself.

So instead, Kurt deflates, sinking back into the couch, staring at his hands in his lap, and he decides to be honest.

“He’s kind of the cutest.”

* * *

As luck would have it, Blaine isn’t only nice and cute, but he really _is_ smart, and he’s a great teacher, too, once he gets comfortable and settled.

But before that, especially when they’re standing in line at Starbucks to get coffees, which Kurt insists on paying for, of course, Blaine seems just - _nervous._

A little shy, a little on edge, a little too polite, almost like he’s holding himself back, keeping any remotely personal pieces of himself closely under wraps.

Kurt can’t help but feel curious, but he shoves the inclination down, and he doesn’t push or pry. They’re here to study and for Blaine to tutor him, and it doesn’t matter how well they know each other for it to work.

Maybe Blaine’s just trying to stay on topic, make the most of the time they have.

But once they start working, Blaine’s like a bud of a flower blossoming, a butterfly hatched from its cocoon, a bird spreading its wings. 

It’s like music pulls magic out of him, even if he’s only analyzing it - his eyes are alight, he’s smiling, he’s effortlessly explaining concepts that Kurt’s never been able to begin to wrap his head around, and he’s actually making them make _sense._

There’s music in the air Blaine breathes, in the movement of his pencil as he scribbles chord notations and solfege on their worksheet, in his voice, even as he simply speaks - and it makes Kurt wonder what it would be like to actually hear Blaine _create_ music, be it with his voice or his hands or any part of him.

A part of him desperately wants to know, wants to understand Blaine in his intricacies and fit the light of his passion alongside the rest of him, but he knows he shouldn’t.

They’re here to study.

And they _do_ study - Blaine helps Kurt through an entire chapter of their textbook, checks Kurt’s answers for all of the homework that’s due next class, and then they’re pretty much done.

But then they stay, and they talk.

The conversation drifts to their musical backgrounds first, a safe first stop of a topic that Kurt’s discussed a thousand times over since starting college - he’s explained his own history countless times and heard other people’s just as many, often enough as to where it feels like reciting a script at this point.

This feels different, though, because Kurt finds himself actually _wanting_ to know where Blaine has come from, where he wants to go, and Blaine seems to want to know about _him,_ too.

So Kurt really listens when Blaine talks, and he makes a point to share more than he typically does, and it flows so easily that it feels like they’ve done this a hundred times before, sat in a noisy Starbucks and chatted into the evening, coffee cups long-ago drained.

But that’s really it - it truly feels _easy._

So Kurt forgets to be nervous or to get stuck on how cute he thinks Blaine is when he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all, even forgets to try to flirt and feel out if there’s any potential. Instead, he settles back into his chair and into being around Blaine, and he relaxes.

And Blaine relaxes, too.

* * *

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Do you ever just want to...make art and help people?_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Well hello to you, too._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Back on this again, are we?_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Ha ha. I really mean it this time! I’m not even drunk! I just… I feel really inspired right now, and I have no idea why._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _I actually kind of know what you mean. I’m kind of feeling that myself tonight :-)_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Wait, really?_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Yes, really! I just feel like I’m starting to see something in a whole new light. It feels good._

 **_warblersong:_ ** _That really does sounds nice, actually_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _I gtg finish an essay, but go forth and create art! Grab the inspiration bull by the horns!_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _I’ll try, Elphie. I’ll try :)_


	3. careless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're wondering? blaine is me with music theory. just so we're clear x

“So. If this sequence modulates to the key of the dominant...” Blaine explains, using the end of his pencil to point out a line of chordal analysis. “It needs a pivot chord, okay? Which-”

“-which is one chord that’s able to function in both keys, right?” Kurt cuts in, biting his lip in concentration as he focuses on the notes on the page. “So… This D Major chord in the ninth measure-” he points at it, “-would be the dominant in the original key, and it’s the tonic chord once it modulates?”

Kurt has no idea where that just came from - it feels like a different language, terms and functions and symbols, but he feels...correct?

And then he feels Blaine’s eyes on him from where he’s sitting catty-corner from him at what’s quickly become their usual table at Starbucks, and so he looks over, only to find that Blaine is positively _beaming_ at him, as if Kurt’s done something extraordinary and not just finally begun to process a mid-level theory concept.

 _“Yes,_ Kurt!” he breathes, nodding with an enthusiasm that’s ridiculously infectious, that makes warmth bubble in Kurt’s chest. “That’s exactly it!” 

It’s infectious, too, the way Blaine makes it all seem so _important,_ and so finally understanding it makes Kurt feel important, too, like he isn’t hopeless, like he’s doing something _right,_ like maybe he can start figuring it out on his own as long as he stays focused and remembers what Blaine has taught him instead of slipping up and making careless mistakes.

“I...actually feel ready for our next test,” Kurt admits, the realization only hitting him as he says it. They’ve only been studying together for a couple of weeks, but it’s like Blaine’s trained fingers are nimbly untying the knots of chords and melodies and intervals twisted and tangled together in Kurt’s mind, and he feels so much more comfortable with all of it already, like he can look at a piece of music and start to _get_ it. 

“I… Thank you,” he adds, settling back in his chair. “I really never thought I’d get this stuff.”

And he really, really hadn’t, but here Blaine is, proving him wrong in a matter of a handful of study sessions, opening his eyes to the true intricacies and meaning in the music that he sings.

There’s something special about it, really. Blaine obviously knows that, was probably born understanding it - but Kurt’s starting to see it, too.

“You caught on pretty quickly, honestly,” Blaine shrugs, and he actually sounds like he means it. “Don’t tell him I said this, but… Dr. White doesn’t always explain things in the best way.”

“You can say that again,” Kurt snorts, head spinning at the thought of their professor’s roundabout ways of teaching. He quickly softens, then, meeting Blaine’s eyes again and letting the corners of his mouth curl up into a small, genuine smile. “You… really do make it a lot easier.”

Blaine huffs a soft, bashful laugh of a breath, and then he goes quiet, just looking at him for a moment with an expression Kurt can’t quite place but suddenly needs to understand, aches to put a word or a meaning to.

“What?” Kurt asks, feeling like he needs to hold his breath, like the air is suspended around them.

“Oh, um. Nothing.” Blaine ducks his head shyly for a moment before looking back up at Kurt, nothing but earnestness in his eyes. “Just… We could keep doing this, if you wanted. Uh- me helping you, I mean. Finals are going to be here sooner than later, and I...want you to get a good grade.”

_Oh._

Kurt lifts his eyebrows in surprise, feeling equal parts touched and shaken and like maybe, what if - what if there’s another reason, too.

He kind of wants there to be, but he pushes the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger, not wanting to get his hopes up.

He has no idea if Blaine is even gay.

“Really? You… You don’t have to do that. This was more than enough already,” he says just to be polite, recentering himself, although he _does_ want to keep doing this, as much to keep Blaine’s company as he wants to keep his grade up, if not more. 

“I… I guess so, but, um.” Blaine pauses, and Kurt can track the movement of his throat as he swallows. “If I’m being honest… I could kind of use a friend.”

There’s so little Kurt knows about Blaine. They’ve talked all about what music means to them and why they’re here and what they want to do, but he doesn’t know much about Blaine outside of that - not how he grew up, not who his friends actually _are,_ if he has any, not what he’s interested in, not really much of anything at all.

But he knows Blaine is kind, and he’s patient, and he’s passionate - and he’s devastatingly cute, too, and that’s enough for Kurt to know without a hint of doubt in his mind that he wants to stick around.

“Well, I can’t say no to that,” Kurt decides, unable to help but allow his smile to widen as Blaine’s face lights up, just enough to be perceptible. 

“Just… Can I make one request?”

“Of course.”

Kurt has no idea what it is, but he’ll say yes. He knows he will.

It’s the least he can do, after everything Blaine’s already done for him.

“Let’s branch out from Starbucks next time?”

* * *

Kurt agrees, because of course he does, and it’s how they end up escaping the chill of the autumn air in overstuffed comfy chairs in the back corner of a cozy, quiet hole-in-the-wall cafe a few nights later, lazily eating from bowls of soup that are warming them from the inside out.

And not doing a hint of homework.

He isn’t sure what it is - maybe it’s that Blaine is more comfortable here, or maybe it’s the fact that they’ve purposefully decided to be friends - but Blaine seems looser than ever here, more at home than Kurt has ever seen him.

But considering Kurt’s only ever seen Blaine in class or at the on-campus Starbucks, he figures that doesn’t necessarily mean much.

Still, it _does_ mean that Blaine is chatty and enthusiastic, and although Kurt really did bring his homework and intended to work on it, they don’t seem to be getting around to it.

And Kurt doesn’t mind in the slightest.

In fact, they spend hours there, talking about anything and everything, from movies they’ve seen to books they’ve read to celebrities they look up to - nothing too deep, all surface level, but fun.

Easy.

They end up staying until the shop closes, and when they step into the cool evening air, Kurt still feels warm inside, light on his feet. They walk side-by-side, staying close as to not take up the entire sidewalk, ending up with their shoulders brushing occasionally.

Kurt notices every time it happens. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get much work done tonight,” Blaine says when they stop on a corner, having reached the point where they need to part ways. “Not my best work as a tutor.”

“I kind of needed a break, honestly,” Kurt admits, shifting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. But he notices Blaine’s nearly frowning, looking unsure, maybe even nervous, and in a split-second decision, Kurt decides to put himself out there a bit, to give a little bit more. “And it was nice. I… I had a really great time with you.”

When Blaine does that _thing_ \- that thing Kurt’s so quickly coming to learn and to adore, the one where Blaine ducks his head and lets out a shaky laugh and lifts back up with a glint in his eyes - Kurt wants to kiss him.

He just does.

It’s the way the city lights are twinkling around them, and people are rushing by them, crossing the street and heading off to wherever they’re going, but they don’t matter, the flurries of noise and motion blurred into the background with Blaine in the forefront, his golden eyes at the pinnacle of it all.

And maybe he should. Maybe he should just- just _go_ for it, and maybe it’ll work, or maybe it won’t, but if he doesn’t try, he knows he’ll beat himself up for it, always wonder _what if, what if I had-_

But then Blaine speaks.

“You’re a really cool guy, Kurt,” is what he says, and it pulls Kurt back down to earth instantly, pops the bubble that had held them in a state of any sort of potential in his mind.

A _cool guy._

Well, that’s kind of it, isn’t it?

Swallowing the tinge of hurt and smack of disappointing reality, Kurt puts on a brave face, and he smiles, channeling his acting training the best way he knows how.

“You know, after your fifteen minute monologue on comic book heroes...” he says dryly, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m not sure you I can say the same for you, but…”

“Hey! It wasn’t _fifteen minutes!_ Maybe five. _Maybe.”_

Somehow, it works. It diffuses the tension Kurt’s built up in his head, at least enough for him to laugh and for it to feel genuine.

He’s had crushes before - plenty of them, truly, often fleeting, always passing.

This won’t be any different.

“Eh, I’ve heard it all before from an old friend,” he shrugs, cocking his head to the side as he notices the odd blush on Blaine’s cheeks in the light of the streetlamp above them. “I’ll let it slide this time.”

“You really are missing out, you know,” Blaine insists, shaking his head with a look on his face that looks an awful lot like fondness, but it wouldn’t be.

“Sure, sure.” Kurt rolls his eyes playfully, reaching out to bump Blaine’s shoulder. “That’s what he always says, too.”

* * *

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Read any good comic books lately?_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Wait...is this a trap? Why are you asking?_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _What?! A guy can’t simply be interested in hearing about his best secret friend’s interests?_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Well… If you really want to know, I read this really, really cool one the other day..._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Tell me all about it :)_

**_warblersong is typing..._ **


	4. dispensable

Kurt needs a night out.

He feels like he’s drowning in responsibilities and obligations, running from classes to the practice rooms and back to more classes, spending every spare moment studying, rehearsing, working.

He truly, _desperately_ needs a chance to unwind - and to get his mind off of Blaine, too.

He knows he’s building it up in his head.

Blaine is as nice and as friendly as ever, and their study sessions are both productive and enjoyable, just like they’ve always been, but Kurt can’t help but feel the nagging embarrassment, shame, _disappointment_ at the back of his mind whenever they’re around each other.

He has no reason to pull away, no reason to be put out with Blaine - in fact, Blaine has no idea that he’s done anything wrong, and he _hasn’t._ Kurt is the one with the feelings, the one with the crush, the one with the silly idea that it could have been more than that when Blaine had told him under no uncertain terms that he needed a friend.

A _friend._

Of course, Kurt _wants_ to be his friend, but the loss of the moment that could have been still stings, even a week later.

So an evening licking his wounds by nursing overpriced, sugary Shirley Temples and taking the stage to sing because he actually _wants_ to, not just because he’s required to, sounds like the very thing he needs.

And he knows exactly who to call to make the most of every second of it.

“Hey, Kurt!” 

“Elliott, hey,” he greets, relieved that Elliott answered the phone. It’s already afternoon, and he knows it’s last minute, but he’s hopeful - and maybe desperate - enough to try anyways. “Look, are you busy tonight?”

Elliott laughs, rich and hearty, and Kurt knows right away that he knows exactly what Kurt has in mind and that he’s on board, too. 

“Let me guess. Callbacks?”

_“Please.”_

It’s actually where they met, just a couple of months after Kurt moved to New York. Rachel had dragged him out to the bar to watch her perform, only for them both to be completely blown away by the absolute powerhouse that took Lady Gaga’s “Marry the Night” and made it new all over again.

Rachel had dragged Kurt over to meet him, and they had hit it off, eventually ending up onstage together that same night, and the rest was history.

The three of them meet up at Callbacks regularly, performing solos and duets of every combination and even sometimes as a trio, too, and it’s one of Kurt’s very favorite things to do.

He especially loves performing with Elliott. 

It makes him feel strong, powerful, confident, like he’s owning the stage and couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks of him. And, well, to be honest, it’s pretty much the only time where Kurt feels like the addition of Rachel’s voice is more or less dispensable. Kurt and Elliott bring out the best in one another when they sing together, and it’s fine if she’s there, too, of course, but they’re more than adequate without her, and even she knows it. 

It’s going to be a good night.

* * *

It’s turning out to be a _great_ night, actually.

Elliott had gotten there first and signed them up for a performance of “Into the Groove,” one of their staples that happens to be Kurt’s favorite - it always leaves his blood pumping with a sexy sort of adrenaline, and it tonight is no different.

It snaps him out of his stress and embarrassment-induced funk almost immediately, and he happily perches at their usual table and grins as he watches Elliott and Rachel each go for their own solo performances. 

He loves how they’re both such naturals, so talented in such different ways. He’s proud of the fact that they inspire him instead of making him jealous - it just makes him want to be _better,_ actually, makes him want to feel the passion of music in his bones. 

Maybe he should sign up for a solo, too, something Broadway or perhaps another Madonna-

“Kurt?”

Rachel’s over by the bar, waiting on another round of drinks, and they’d lost track of Elliott a while earlier, probably off mingling somewhere, and Kurt isn’t sure who else knows him here. But he turns his head, and he finds-

“What- Blaine!” _Blaine._ Blaine is _here._ Kurt ignores the butterflies swirling in his stomach, tries not to pay attention to the way Blaine’s button down is clinging perfectly to his chest and to his arms, and he smiles instead, willing himself to act natural. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, um. My roommate Sam brought me out,” he explains, pointing out a guy over by the bar with shaggy, bright blonde hair. “He said I need to _learn how to loosen up.”_ His fingers curl in sarcastic air-quotes, and it makes Kurt laugh, because although he doesn’t know Sam, he kind of knows what Sam means. 

“It’s always fun here,” Kurt says, eyes straying from Blaine to look at the stage, watching as someone sets up their music at the piano. “It’s… It’s nice to have a reminder that music is actually enjoyable sometimes, y’know?”

“Yeah… I know what you mean.”

Blaine sounds strangely off, not loosened up in the slightest, actually, and when Kurt turns back to look at him, he looks nervous, flustered, something else Kurt can’t quite put his finger on.

“You think you’ll get up there and sing something?” he wants to know, assuming that’s the reason. Maybe Blaine never has before, not here, and maybe he wants to.

“No, no, I don’t think tonight, but I, um.” Blaine hesitates, eyes flicking away from Kurt’s for a brief moment before coming back again, suddenly shy. “I’ve been here for a while though, actually, and I- I saw you singing earlier. You sounded-”

“Kurt! I _finally_ got our drinks, but there was this guy that was taking _forever_ to order because he- Oh, who’s this?”

And of course, here’s Rachel, blowing back in like a whirlwind of the fruity drinks in her hands and her loud voice and effectively cutting Blaine off, right when he was about to say something that felt _important,_ something that Kurt so desperately still wants to hear.

But the moment has passed. Blaine actually flinches as his voice catches in his throat and he goes silent, and Kurt _really_ wants to strangle Rachel for interrupting, for even being there at all, because she’s suddenly never seemed more intrusive.

Instead, Kurt sighs, and he smiles politely as he reaches for his new drink, pulling it towards him.

“Rachel, this is Blaine, he’s um- He’s tutoring me, remember?” He tries to give Rachel a _look,_ one that hopefully delivers the message of _please don’t be yourself for the next three minutes because I don’t trust you,_ before continuing. “Blaine, this is Rachel, my roommate.”

“Oh, you’re _Blaine!”_ Rachel clasps her hands together, and her eyes light up, and _no._ This is a disaster. This is a disaster, and Rachel is going to blow it, and- “You’re really saving our Kurt’s ass here, you know that? And not to mention he really can’t stop ta-”

“Hey, guys. Kurt, I got our names on the list for another one, just you and me - I was thinking Rockstar, maybe?”

God bless Elliott’s perfect timing. He slides into the seat beside Kurt with a comfortable smile, casually taking a sip of his beer as Rachel shoots him a glare.

But the relief Kurt feels at Rachel being cut off is quickly squashed by the expression on Blaine’s face as he looks at Elliott and takes him in - Blaine’s frozen, almost, but maybe he’s just overwhelmed by being thrust into the throes of Rachel, loud in volume and personality, and now Elliott, too, loud in his appearance and in the sheer air of his confidence. 

“I… I need to go,” Blaine stammers, and then he turns, and he’s gone.

“What was that all about?” Elliott asks, the three of them turned to look the way Blaine left, though he’s nowhere to be found, escaped into the small crowd or maybe even out of the bar entirely.

But Kurt can’t follow him. It isn’t his business, and they aren’t that close.

They just aren’t like that, even if he wishes they were.

“I have no idea,” Kurt admits, blinking, trying to figure out how to make it make sense.

But he doesn’t have a clue in the slightest.

* * *

 **sirelphaba:** Man, you know who’s great? Madonna. We don’t talk about her enough.

 **sirelphaba:** Warb? Are you there? It says you’re online.

 **sirelphaba:** Well, maybe I just barely missed you. Hope you’ve had a good night! :)


	5. event

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops! got a little more behind. but this turned into some soft hummelberry friendship, so if that's your thing, enjoy :-)

Kurt had been so thrown off by Blaine's reaction to Rachel and Elliott at Callbacks that he’d forgotten to be disappointed that he didn’t get to hear Blaine sing.

Two days later, it’s all he can think about.

Of course, he’s been curious about it before. Of course, Blaine’s at NYADA, so Kurt knows he _must_ be good.

But of course, Kurt needs to hear it for himself.

He just needs to - and admittedly, he isn’t entirely sure why.

Kurt is constantly surrounded by nothing _but_ epically talented people, and though it had been a shock to his system at first, he had quickly gotten used to it. Just a few weeks into his first semester, the sounds of his peers’ voices and melodies echoing throughout the halls of the practice rooms faded into the background, no longer noteworthy or capturing his attention.

It all feels normal, but Kurt knows, too, that he’s spoiled to be able to see it that way.

Attending a high-caliber arts school in New York City comes with countless perks - from free student recitals and performances nearly every night to offers for discounted tickets to (mostly off-Broadway) musicals and plays to frequent networking events that always come with the chance of being _noticed,_ of being discovered.

Professional-level musical talent is everywhere around them.

Which makes it odd that Kurt cares so much about _Blaine’s_ talent in particular.

It’s not just that he has a crush on Blaine, which - yes, he obviously does. But he’s had other crushes, too, and he never particularly cared about hearing them make music beyond enjoying the idea of having someone to sing flirty duets with. 

That’s not what it is with Blaine. At least, that’s not _all_ it is. 

But the past couple of days since Callbacks have been weird, and as Kurt gives up on sleep at nearly midnight and resorts to pulling up Youtube on his laptop instead, he figures that maybe he’s just lonely. 

As he types _Blaine Anderson_ into the search bar, he decides that this is actually just research, and he simply deserves to know the proficiency level of the person that’s tutoring him. 

He doesn’t even expect to find anything. 

He finds a lot. 

Blaine’s a freshman, so he hasn’t had any performances at NYADA yet - there aren’t any videos of showcases or recitals, nothing like the ones Kurt knows are out there of himself. 

But there’s plenty of his own making, though, of Blaine sitting in front of a keyboard in what must be his bedroom from back home, wherever home might be. 

Kurt can’t help but laugh, soft and under his breath, as he realizes - nearly every single song on Blaine’s channel is a pop one, from Perry to Gaga to Maroon 5, even Destiny’s Child. 

He feels like he’s uncovered buried treasure, a trove of Blaine’s open-secret love for Top 40, but he has a feeling it’s more valuable than he already knows.

He clicks on the one at the top of the list - Teenage Dream - and he holds his breath as he watches a slightly-fuzzy Blaine arrange himself at the keyboard, place his hands in position, and then finally, finally begin to play.

And Kurt’s blown away entirely.

* * *

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a knock comes at his door a few videos later, and he slams his laptop shut just as Rachel sticks her head in, heart pounding in his chest as if he’s just gotten caught doing something terrible.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks, frowning sympathetically.

“Not really, I was just-” He stops himself, shakes his head. Rachel doesn’t need to know. “Sorry, did I wake you? I didn’t realize you would be able to hear me.”

“No, I was just on the way to the bathroom.” There’s enough light from the hallway illuminating her that Kurt can see her shrug, and she slips into the room the rest of the way, coming to perch on the end of his bed. “Are you alright?”

Kurt rubs his hands over his face, trying to shake the flowery bloom of warmth and giddiness and a tinge of embarrassment swirling up through his chest, threatening to redden his cheeks. At least it’s dark enough in his room that Rachel wouldn’t see him blushing - but the videos are…

They’re incredible.

 _Blaine_ is incredible, and Kurt is hopeless. 

“Yeah, I just…” He sighs, giving up. Now that Rachel’s here, now that she’s asking, he does kind of want to talk about it. “I… I think I really like Blaine.”

Rachel lets out a soft laugh, but it isn’t mean - he understands why. His feelings are obvious, really, and he already knew they were there, already knew he liked Blaine.

He just hadn’t realized how _much._

But watching Blaine sing and perform arrangements that just _have_ to be of his own creation had nearly been too much to take - if Blaine is all passion and music when he’s studying it, it’s tripled, quadrupled, infinitely greater when he’s actually performing.

Music is deep in Blaine’s bones, in his heart and in his soul, and Kurt’s already remembering why he fell in love with music so many years ago.

The feeling of falling in love with music at Blaine’s hands is terrifying, though, because it might be more than that - more than just the music.

“Really, Kurt? Of _course_ you do,” she reaches out, swatting his knee playfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this about a guy! You’re just… You’re always so happy after you come home from studying with him.” 

“He’s kind of weird around me, though.” Kurt sighs, collection of awkward moments and missed opportunities swirling strong and prevalent in his mind. “I mean, you saw how he ran off the other night.”

“Maybe he’s just nervous around you?” she suggests, curling her knees up to her chest. “You said you guys have been getting along, right? I mean, your study sessions last _hours,_ Kurt. That isn’t for nothing.”

“I… I guess that’s true.”

And maybe it is. Maybe it means something. Maybe it means a lot.

Maybe it means nothing.

“Oh! You should test your musical chemistry!” Rachel suggests after a moment of quiet, perking up with a grin at even the thought of it - it’s _so_ her, but it isn’t a bad idea, Kurt knows right away. “Get him to sing with you, see if there’s anything there! And if he doesn’t sound good with you, then maybe he’ll sound good with _me-_ I mean, I _do_ have Finn, but- Wait. _Have_ you heard him sing? Is he good?”

And now Kurt has officially been caught.

“That’s, um. That’s kind of what I was just doing,” he admits, wincing, waiting for the poking and the prodding and the teasing. “He… He has some songs on Youtube.”

“You really _do_ like him,” she sighs dreamily, cocking her head as she looks at him carefully. “It’s sweet, seeing you like this. Maybe there’s something there.”

“I… Yeah. I guess I really do.” No use denying it, not anymore. “I just don’t know if I should do anything about it. He said he needs a friend, and I...I don’t know if I should jeopardize that.”

“Boys are complicated,” Rachel pouts, shifting closer to curl up next to Kurt and lean her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, pats her arm, knows she’s right.

“They really are.”

He still isn’t sure what to do. He isn’t sure if it’s worth taking a chance, if he can handle messing up the fragile-yet-important friendship he and Blaine have struck up. At the same time, though, if Rachel’s right, if Blaine’s just nervous around him because he has feelings, too, then _maybe…_

Maybe they could have something special, something worth the risk.

He just isn’t sure.

But Kurt does know that moments like these are the ones that remind him why he sticks around, why Rachel is his best friend - behind closed doors, when the lights go out and the city’s as quiet as it ever gets and no one is there for her to compete for attention with, she settles down and she lets the softness of her heart show through.

He’ll always have her back, and she’ll always have his, and he loves her for it.

* * *

_**warblersong:** Big, big yes to Madonna. I could probably listen to Like a Virgin every single a day and never get sick of it - the reissue of course. Gotta get Into the Groove in there. _

_**warblersong:** Sorry I took so long! I was out a bit late the other night then got totally swamped with an essay. Ugh :/ _

_**sirelphaba:** I always knew you had good taste! _

_**sirelphaba:** I was about to send out a search party for you, by the way. _

_**warblersong:** How would you even know where to look? Or how? _

_**sirelphaba:** I have my ways, Warb. I have my ways. _


	6. farm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the advent word was farm for this chapter
> 
> (buckle up!)

By the next week, everything is more or less back to normal.

He gets his musical theater history paper turned in, which is a huge weight off of his shoulders, and he settles on a song with his private teacher for their end-of-semester studio showcase recital, and things begin to feel like they’re falling into place, like he’s going to make it here, after all.

Of course, Blaine is normal too, if a little awkward the first time they meet up after running into each other at Callbacks, but he warms up again quickly, and he’s as passionate and kind and charming and captivating and _adorable_ as ever.

And Kurt can’t stop thinking about him, which - _isn’t_ normal.

He’s too old to be like this, to have his thoughts constantly floating away from him and always landing in a place that’s sweet and warm and dreamy and not at _all_ founded in reality.

But sometimes he closes his eyes and sees Blaine’s smile, lays in the quiet at night and hears his laugh, looks towards the sun in the sky and sees the gold of his eyes, and he can’t stop himself from doing it.

He’s not sure if he _wants_ to stop himself - whether that makes him a masochist or just infatuated, he doesn't know.

It keeps happening, though, and it’s happening now, even as Kurt tries to focus on the person talking to him, but he can’t stop thinking about the way Blaine’s eyelashes fluttered after he yawned during their last study session and the way he thanks Kurt so earnestly every _single_ time Kurt buys him a silly, cheap cup of drip coffee and the way-

_Wait._

Someone’s _talking_ to him.

Kurt blinks, coming down from the clouds, and he remembers where he is - tucked in the back corner booth with Elliott at the diner all of them love and frequent far too often, splitting a plate of fries and sipping from mugs of hot cocoa.

“Sorry, what did you say?” He winces apologetically, wrapping his hands around his mug to warm them - the cold is settling over the city early this year, and he’s still getting used to it.

“Rachel says there’s a guy,” Elliott repeats, cracking a knowing grin, and Kurt is back to wanting to strangle Rachel.

Because of course she did. Of _course_ she told Elliott, confirming the sneaking suspicion that Kurt’s always had that Rachel and Elliott bond over _him_ more than anything else, spend their time together talking about _god_ knows what regarding him.

“There’s not- No there isn’t,” he lies lamely, knowing Elliott’s going to see right through him, to the point where he isn’t even sure why he bothers deflecting. But- “I don’t know what she’s talking about. There’s- There’s no guy.”

There is a guy. There is _so_ a guy. 

“Yes, there is,” Elliott laughs, shaking his head. “Come on. _Spill.”_

“Okay… Fine,” Kurt groans in surrender, reaching for a french fry to buy a moment of time, to soothe his embarrassment. “It’s just… It’s my theory tutor, Blaine. He- He was the one I ran into at Callbacks?”

Maybe Elliott won’t remember. He’d been pretty focused on getting Kurt back onstage for another duet, so maybe he’d missed noticing Blaine entirely.

“Oh, him. Ask him out,” Elliott says as if it’s obvious, shrugging as he bites into a fry of his own.

Apparently he does remember.

But.

“I… I can’t.”

Elliott narrows his eyes at him, a look on his face that essentially screams _why the hell not,_ and then-

“Why the hell not?”

There are thousands of reasons, from embarrassment to rejection to losing Blaine to not being able to keep him later on to- to _everything,_ but they all feel fleeting, silly, _pointless_ when Elliott’s looking at Kurt like he’s crazy and making it all sound so _easy._

Somehow, Kurt manages to pick one that seems weighty enough.

“He’s- I- I don’t even know if he’s gay.”

And it’s true. He _doesn’t_ know - sure, he suspects, and the odds are higher at NYADA than amongst the general population, but it isn’t ever something that’s come up, at least not on Blaine’s end.

Kurt has never exactly been able to hide, not that he’s ever wanted to - not for years, at least.

“Kurt,” Elliott says dryly, lowering his gaze even further, and _what now?_ “He practically had _stars_ in his eyes when I came over to you guys at the bar the other night. And that bowtie he was wearing? He’s gay.”

“He- You- You can’t know that,” Kurt says instantly, refusing to even consider that the sparkle in Blaine’s eyes could be stars of fondness and possibility, that they could be directed at _him._

“Fine then, don’t believe me,” Elliott says flippantly, shrugging, but he quickly deflates, coming to rest his arms on the table and looking at Kurt seriously, like he really, truly means whatever he’s about to say. “But really, man. If you like him this much, you’ll always wonder what could’ve happened, you know? What’s the worst he could do? Turn you down?”

And maybe that’s true.

Maybe he _would_ always wonder if he didn’t try.

He’s scared, though. He isn’t sure why, but he just _is,_ and so he doesn’t give in. Instead-

“What if he- I don’t know, hates Wicked, or... or wants to spend the rest of his life on some farm in- in Kansas, or-”

“Kurt. Stop making excuses,” Elliott cuts in, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, like he’s trying to look intimidating, looking like he won’t back down until Kurt not only promises to do it, but actually follows through. “Just ask him out.”

It works. 

When Elliott’s insistent, he’s _insistent,_ and Kurt knows that Elliott always has his best interests at heart.

So he caves.

“I… Fine. Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Atta boy.” Elliott instantly softens, winking at him and punctuating it by pointing a fry in his direction. “He’d be an idiot not to say yes.”

* * *

As it turns out, Kurt is the idiot.

Because he doesn’t have a plan.

His head and his heart and his gut are all yelling at him to just _do_ it, to just _ask,_ to just _try_ because it’s so, so hard to hold it back now that he’s decided to go for it.

Especially when Blaine’s curled up in the armchair across from Kurt in the coffee shop that’s now become their regular spot, once Blaine’s favorite that’s now become Kurt’s favorite, too. He looks exceptionally cute like this, soft and cozy in a chunky, deep maroon sweater, mustard-colored pants always, always rolled up at the ankles, smiling at Kurt over a steaming mug of Earl Grey, irresistible in every way.

The funny part is, if Kurt allowed reality to blur around the edges _just_ a bit, it wouldn’t be hard at all to convince himself that they’re already _on_ a date.

They had started out studying, had gotten through their homework assignment on secondary dominants and augmented sixth chords that had nearly given Kurt a headache because it’s _pointless,_ all of it pointless, but it isn’t pointless at all, because Blaine loves it.

But as they seem to do more and more often, even though they finished their work, and even though Kurt understands it all about as well as he ever thinks he’s going to, they’re still here, quietly, aimlessly chatting.

It feels intimate, almost.

And Kurt knows it’s time.

“Can… Can I ask you something?” he ventures, biting his lip in apprehension, butterflies swarming in his stomach with enough ferocity to take him over completely, if he were to let them.

“Of course, Kurt. Anything,” Blaine says, so effortlessly sweet and open as he leans forward to set his mug on the coffee table between them.

“We’ve… You and I have hung out a lot,” Kurt begins after drawing in a deep breath, resting his palms on his knees and sitting up a bit, willing his hands not to get sweaty - just in case. “I mean, I know it’s studying, but we spend so much time just- just _talking_ that it feels like- Anyways, I was just wondering…”

He trails off, struck by a rush of adrenaline, and he feels caught between two sudden contrasting desires - the need to run away, to lie and cover it up and protect himself, and the need to give himself over to it completely, to go for _more_ and to get up and cup Blaine’s face in his hands and _kiss_ him, expressing the depth of the words he can’t quite find.

“You were wondering…” Blaine prompts him curiously before Kurt can decide either way, cocking his head, entirely unassuming, unsuspicious, _trusting_.

“I thought maybe we could…” Actually, Kurt has no idea what he thinks they could do. He has no idea what he’s doing, no plans, no thoughts beyond the very question he can’t seem to _get_ to. He knows he has to be blunt, and so he is. “I want to take you out. On a date. If… If that’s something you’re interested in.”

For a split second, as soon as he gets the words out, Kurt feels proud of himself, and he feels hopeful - it feels _obvious,_ almost, that this is what he’s meant to be doing, that this is going to work and that this is going to be the start of something really, truly special.

And then Blaine’s face falls, nearly crumples, and he practically recoils, and it’s all gone.

All of it gone, and Kurt can’t get it back.

“I… No. Why would you- No, I-I can’t,” Blaine stammers in a rush, reaching down for his bag with trembling hands, avoiding looking in Kurt’s direction entirely as he gathers his things.

Kurt is frozen, afraid to move, as if the ground will fall out from underneath him entirely if he does.

But Blaine doesn’t seem to have the same fear - he stands up on shaky legs, and when he meets Kurt’s gaze again, his eyes are like nothing Kurt’s seen before - cold, guarded, _scared._

“I-I’m not gay,” he says, as if he can’t comprehend the fact that Kurt could have even considered otherwise, but before Kurt has a chance to do anything, to say anything, to try to _fix_ anything, Blaine turns, and he runs out.

He leaves, taking every shattered fragment of Kurt’s hopes and warmth and confidence along with him.

Leaving nothing but cold.


	7. grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so so much for your comments! I've really loved and appreciated each and every one of them, and it was especially fun to read your reactions to the last chapter.

_I’m not gay._

The words echo in Kurt’s mind over and over, relentless in their repetition, the shock and the tremble and the _fear_ in Blaine’s voice somehow magnified each and every time.

He can’t get it out of his head - _any_ of it.

Not Blaine’s voice, not his words, not the look in his eyes or the way his face dropped so quickly, not the way he ran away so abruptly.

Not the feeling of Kurt’s heart breaking in his chest, far more painful than it should be for a boy he’s only known for a handful of weeks.

But it doesn’t make sense.

Rejection is one thing - Kurt’s been there, and he can handle it. In fact, he knows how to handle homophobia, too, and he can deal with being treated like a pariah or like he’s contagious or like he’s a sinner, wrong just by existing. 

He feels like he can’t handle _this,_ though, and he isn’t entirely sure what’s different about it. 

But amongst the heartbreak and the rejection and the embarrassment, there’s something else - something more akin to worry, he realizes after a couple of days. 

He’s worried about Blaine. 

Somehow, Kurt feels in his gut that Blaine hadn’t run out because he was disgusted, because he felt like there was something wrong with Kurt, not anything like that. In fact, it barely feels like his reaction had been about _Kurt_ at all.

It feels like something else.

But Kurt doesn’t know what to do about it.

* * *

Theory class is awkward.

Soon after starting their study sessions, Kurt and Blaine had taken to sharing a table in class, sitting next to one another and keeping each other sane. They’d sit close enough together that Blaine could lean over and jot extra notes down in the margins of Kurt’s page, too, always helpful, always going above and beyond.

When Kurt walks in on Tuesday, their first class after a weekend devoid of the color and light and sweet melodies he had come to revel in, he sits in the back corner.

He figures it can go one of a few different ways.

Either Blaine will come in and sit down beside Kurt anyways, or he’ll tell Kurt to come sit at their usual table, or maybe he won’t show up at all

Blaine comes in a mere moment before the top of the hour, his head down, doesn’t spare Kurt a single glance as he slides into his usual seat, at the table that used to be theirs.

It’s like he doesn’t notice that Kurt isn’t there beside him.

Dr. White seems to drone on and on, and Kurt can’t focus, can’t understand the words he’s saying or even begin to try applying them to the sheet music in front of him. 

He shouldn’t have even come at all.

* * *

So on Thursday, he doesn’t.

He skips class for the first time since starting college, and he stays in bed and pities himself, staring out of his window at the gray, gloomy clouds in the sky.

He’s overreacting.

But now it feels like not one rejection, but _two,_ and the supposed loss of their friendship on top of it all stings even more than the rest of it, a thousand times more than knowing he’ll never get to hold Blaine’s hand or kiss him or fall in love together.

Feeling like he won’t ever get to make Blaine laugh or smile or hear him be nerdy about music theory again, though - it’s a loss he feels aching from deep inside, a low pit in his chest.

In order for Kurt to begin getting over something and instead take ownership of it and _fix_ it, he has to let himself wallow in the dramatics of the pain first, the lashes of pain and sadness and embarrassment, and so he gives himself the day.

One more day of this, and he’ll be fine.

By late afternoon, he’s already ready to take charge.

Because he _isn’t_ ready to lose all of that. He isn’t ready to lose Blaine completely. He’ll toss away his pride and let down his walls and bare his soul with a vulnerability he’s always been terrified to offer if it means he can explain himself and regain Blaine’s friendship.

It already feels like a lifetime ago that Blaine had told Kurt that he could use a friend, and Kurt doesn’t want to let him down.

He’ll fix this.

* * *

But of course, Blaine won’t even look at Kurt in class, and besides, they’re at different points in their courseloads, so it isn’t like they’ve ever seen much of each other unless they’ve made a point to do so.

Now, Kurt has a feeling Blaine is going to make a point _not_ to.

So he starts small.

He tries texting first, figures it gives Blaine the opportunity to take his time before replying, if days of silence haven't been enough already.

Kurt’s hands are trembling as he types the message, simple, to the point, open.

 **From Kurt:** Hey, I hope you’re doing alright. I just wanted to apologize for what happened last week. Your friendship is really important to me, and I don’t want to lose you. I shouldn’t have risked it in the first place. Whenever you’re ready, I hope we can talk about it, or at least be friends again.

He hopes it isn’t too much.

He hopes it makes sense.

He hopes that, after Blaine answers, he’ll be able to hold up his own end, that he’ll be able to get over his feelings for Blaine and really, truly be his friend, that he’ll be able to stop thinking about him and hoping for him.

He hopes that Blaine answers at all.

But after the weekend passes without a reply, Kurt’s hope starts to fade, and he wonders if he should give up, if he should resign himself to going back to his normal routine without study sessions at the coffee shop, to going back to figuring out how to keep his head above water in theory class on his own, to going back to not seeing reminders of Blaine everywhere he looks.

He can’t quite make himself, though.

Not yet.

* * *

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Hey, are you around?_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _I was wondering if your offer was still open. I know you said a while ago that if I ever needed somebody to talk to, you would listen...and I could kind of use that now._

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Hey, what’s going on? I’m here._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _I’ll spare you the details, but basically… I kind of made a fool of myself the other day and screwed something up with a friend. And I’m not sure how to fix it, but I really want to._

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Ugh, are you me? I did the same thing recently._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Seriously? Mercury must be in retrograde or something..._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Can I ask...what happened? How did it turn out?_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _I ran. I made it worse._

 **_warblersong:_ ** _But don’t be like me. Be braver than that. Confront the problem and talk to them. If this person is truly your friend, they’ll hear you out._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Yeah… Maybe._

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _But what if what happened was too bad to get past? What if it’s too late?_

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Is your friendship worth trying for?_

 **_sirelphaba:_ ** _Yes. Of course it is._

 **_warblersong:_ ** _Then maybe you have to trust that they’ll try, too._


	8. history

“Elliott and I are worried about you.”

Kurt folds his arms over his chest, and he leans against the back of the booth, glaring across their usual table at the diner - at Rachel, at Elliott, back at Rachel again. 

“What is this, an intervention?” he asks dryly. 

He isn’t interested. He’s fine. 

He’s gone back to his theory class, and he’s practicing, and he’s studying, and he’s doing everything he normally does. 

He had let himself mope, and now he’s fine. 

“Actually, yes,” Elliott says, offering a small, supportive smile that comes off as ridiculously plastered-on and reminiscent of the beginnings of an after school special, at least to Kurt.

But maybe that’s just because he’s on the receiving end of it.

“You’ve practically had a storm cloud hanging over you for the past week,” Rachel explains, righting her posture, as if it’ll make her more convincing. “And while I appreciate the dramatics of it from a theatrical standpoint, it’s not exactly a pleasant environment to live in.” 

“You even ditched Callbacks this week. That’s really unlike you, Kurt,” Elliott adds, and he’s right.

They’re both right.

As easy as it is to pretend like everything’s fine, particularly when he’s on campus running from musical theater history or theory classes to his dance and stage combat intensives to the practice rooms, Kurt still isn’t.

He misses Blaine.

But it feels too silly to say that aloud, as if it’ll add a level of realness to Kurt’s feelings that he isn’t ready to confront. 

Especially with Rachel and Elliott sitting in front of him, both with kindness and softness in their hearts but with power and grace and confidence, too, he feels like it isn’t worth it. It’s like they’re both so beyond this sort of thing, establishing themselves in the city and in their careers, making names for themselves and staying focused.

Never on the edge of failing a class, never entirely shaken and thrown by a boy who was only supposed to be there to make things easier.

It all feels so difficult now.

“You can talk to us,” Rachel promises, overly sincere in her tone and in the way she reaches out to place her hand over Kurt’s, squeezing it as if there’s something dire going on. “I mean, I don’t know what it is, but we really do want to help. Even if you’re in the wrong. Isn’t that what friends are for? Actually, I don’t know why I even have to tell you this, considering we’ve been best friends for years, and you should really-”

“I think what Rachel’s _trying_ to say,” Elliott cuts in, throwing Kurt a knowing, apologetic look. “Is that we care about you. We’re your friends, and we’re here for you if you need us to be.”

He thinks about it. 

In all actuality, he isn’t sure what they could do to help. They’d both encouraged him to _go_ for it, and as much as Kurt had tried to deny it, all signs had pointed to it working out. 

Every single one. 

He doesn’t want them to feel guilty. He doesn’t want them to pity him, either, to feel bad for him in any way. 

He just wants to move on, and he wants to forget about it. 

But Kurt also knows that _they_ won’t be able to forget about it until he fills them in, and so he sighs, and he decides to give in.

“I asked Blaine out,” he admits, wincing at the way Rachel’s face lights up and quickly shaking his head, hoping to nip her enthusiasm in the bud. “No, no, it… It didn’t go well.”

He explains it all - the way they had felt so close, there in their favorite cafe, how he had gotten up the courage to ask and what he had said, and then how Blaine reacted.

Stuttering, standing, shaking, running.

_I’m not gay._

“Phew,” Elliott whistles in a rush of breath, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. “I… Didn’t see that coming.”

“I didn’t either,” Kurt frowns, looking down into his cup of coffee. “I just… I feel pretty stupid about it all, I guess. I really thought there was something there.”

“Oh, Kurt. Rejection is hard,” Rachel frowns sympathetically, giving his hand a squeeze. “Have you tried singing about it? I know you really liked him, but maybe if he’s not gay, he and I could hit it off, and-”

“Rachel. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Elliott asks pointedly, and she jumps, as if he kicked her under the table - which, well, he probably did.

Kurt can’t help but snort, feeling the last dredges of his resistance fade away, replaced by fondness for the people he does have in his life, as crazy as they are.

“Fine! No point in being where I’m not wanted,” she huffs, collecting her things and slipping out of the booth in a flurry of movement, but before she goes, she stops, reaching to squeeze Kurt’s arm and look at him reassuringly, and it’s enough for him to know - she isn’t actually mad. 

She gets it.

* * *

Kurt loves Rachel, and he appreciates her for trying the best way she knows how, but he’s glad she left. 

It’s a little easier, somehow, just talking to Elliott. 

Because as much of a powerhouse as Elliott is, all glitter and boots and eyeliner, he’s exceptionally genuine, too, and he’s always kind, and it doesn’t take nearly as much for him to let that side of himself show as it does for Rachel. 

In fact, Kurt doesn’t always feel worthy of the steadfastly open, ever supportive friendship he has with Elliott, but he’s endlessly grateful for it. 

Most of the time, they just seem to _get_ each other - and now isn’t any exception to that. 

Elliott seems to know that Kurt doesn’t need to talk about it anymore, that he’ll be able to sort everything out on his own, and so once Rachel leaves, he drops it.

Instead, they order salads, and they decide to split a plate of fries like they somehow always end up doing, and they kick back and settle in to talk about everything _but_ Blaine. 

It feels _good._

In fact, by the time their food arrives, Kurt feels lighter than he has in days, his mind sufficiently distracted and sidetracked enough for him to smile and laugh and actually feel like he _means_ it. 

But then Elliott pauses mid-story about a drunk hookup he’d had his freshman year, and he shoots Kurt a warning look, and fear strikes Kurt low in his belly. 

And here Blaine is, coming to stand right in front of their table, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, the smallest hint of an apologetic smile curling at the corners of his mouth. 

“Hi, Kurt.”

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes, shoving down the mix of feelings hitting him like a tidal wave - confusion, nervousness, regret, anticipation, even butterflies, despite it all. He tries to default to being considerate instead of acknowledging any of it, entirely unsure of where this is about to go. “Um, hey. You… You remember Elliott?”

“I-I believe so, yes,” Blaine says, giving Elliott a polite, if apprehensive, smile and a small nod before turning back to Kurt. “Look, I… I don’t want to interrupt, but I just wanted to apologize for- for not answering your text.” 

For the text. Right. Not for the running, or for the rejection, or for the rest of the ignoring. 

For the text. 

It shouldn’t feel like enough, but considering Kurt hadn’t expected anything at all, it still matters. 

It matters a lot. 

“Oh. Well, um. That’s alright,” Kurt says carefully, hoping he means it, hoping he can convince even himself that it _is_ alright. “A-Are you okay?”

“I… I’ve been dealing with some, um,” Blaine pauses, seems to swallow in thought as he looks down, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, left, right, left, right, and finally, back to the center. “Just… Family stuff.”

When he meets Kurt’s eyes again, he looks nervous, unsure, _tired._

Really tired. 

There isn’t any family stuff - Kurt knows that, and he’s sure Blaine is aware that he knows, too. 

But as they look at each other, as Blaine quietly searches Kurt’s face for answers to questions he won’t ask and Kurt desperately does the same in return, there isn’t much of anything left to say, either. 

Kurt has no idea what to do. 

“Hey, it happens,” Elliott finally jumps in with a kind smile, like he’s attempting to bridge the gap of the awkward silence stretching between them. 

It seems to work - Blaine snaps out of whatever’s holding him so stiff and so silent, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again, once again schooling his face into neutrality.

“Yeah, um, anyways,” he starts, reaching to rub at the back of his neck in a movement Kurt’s come to realize is a nervous tic more than anything else. “Since we’re both here, I-I just wanted to offer, we could keep studying together. I-If you want to.”

It feels important. 

It’s strange, sure, and there’s so much left unsaid and confused and unresolved, but at the same time, it feels like a peace offering, an olive branch. 

A _chance._

And Kurt would be a fool not to take it. 

“I’d like that,” he says, and if he sounds a little breathless, he’s just relieved at the possibility of getting his friend back. 

That’s all it is - all it can be now, and that’s okay. 

It really is.

* * *

_**warblersong:** Remember how you asked me for advice the other day? _

_**sirelphaba:** Of course I do. Thank you again, by the way. You really are a good friend. _

_**warblersong:** Aw, shucks. It was nothing. _

_**warblersong:** But it actually helped me, too. _

_**sirelphaba** : Wait, really? How so? _

_**warblersong:** I think I decided to stop running. _


	9. inconclusive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s a 2 chapter sort of day!!

Kurt had figured that studying with Blaine again would be awkward at first. He had figured it would take them some time to get used to each other again, to settle their new boundaries and to feel out what Blaine is most comfortable with, taking Blaine’s lead.

Kurt had expected it to be awkward, but he hadn’t expected it to be _this_ awkward. 

Sitting at Starbucks together feels completely forced, entirely uncomfortable, and when Blaine gets up to get a refill of his coffee, Kurt can _feel_ the tension in his body - in his jaw, his shoulders, even in the grip of his pencil, the tip digging into his paper.

They had been rigidly on-topic the entire time they’d been here, sat at a table nowhere near as tucked away as the one they used to gravitate toward, nowhere near as warm and cozy as the armchairs at the little cafe they had practically claimed as their own, until everything went wrong.

Kurt had been relieved when Blaine suggested meeting up at Starbucks - safe, neutral territory, exactly what he had been thinking himself.

But being at Starbucks doesn’t stop Kurt from feeling like he’s about to crawl out of his skin more and more every time his attempts at making jokes fall flat or his suggestions to take a break just end up in a miserable silence, once filled by conversation about anything and everything.

He hates it.

And when he sits back and runs through his fingers through his hair, letting out his first deep heave of a sigh once Blaine heads off to the counter, he wonders why they’re even here.

He wonders why Blaine even really bothered apologizing - just for missing Kurt’s text, but an apology all the same. If he isn’t going to move on from it, if it’s all still so obviously hanging over him like this, then why say he’s sorry?

But Kurt could ask himself the same question, couldn’t he?

He’s just resigned himself to another excruciatingly dull worksheet of advanced chordal analysis when Blaine rushes back over like he’s on a mission, his eyes wide, glinting with a golden spark that instantly makes Kurt sit up straighter, makes a breath hitch in his chest.

“Kurt,” Blaine says lowly, as if he’s telling a secret, even ducking in closer than he’s been since- _since._ He’s close enough that Kurt could practically breathe him in if he wanted to, could feel his warmth if he focused hard enough, but he won’t. He can’t. “Look over there - by the door.”

Kurt suddenly feels like he can’t move at all, but he forces himself to, and he looks.

He finds their music theory professor over by the door, which isn’t particularly noteworthy - sure, it’s strange seeing a professor out of context, especially one as _dedicated_ as he is, but it’s not necessarily worth pointing out, at least not like this.

But then Kurt notices - he isn’t alone.

“Oh my god, is that… Dr. White?” he asks, keeping his voice hushed, his head still ducked in towards Blaine’s. “Is he with-”

“He’s with Dr. Young!” Blaine whispers excitedly, his eyes infinitely wider. And it’s true - he’s standing close to one of the music theory history professors, a small, serious woman who everyone dreads getting placed with.

It could be a simple work meeting, popping out of the office for a cup of coffee, but it’s Saturday, and there’s something more.

There’s a child between them, a little boy no older than four, and they’re each holding one of his hands, and they look like a _family._

_No way._

“Wait, do you think they’re-” 

“Do you think that’s _their_ child?” Blaine cuts in quickly, as if he can’t help it. “It has to be!” 

“I thought he was gay,” Kurt admits, leaning back in his chair in astonishment, still vaguely keeping an eye on their two professors as they wait in line to order, chatting and laughing and smiling just like everybody else. 

“I thought she was a lesbian!” 

And just like that, the ice breaks.

They look at each other, and they laugh, rich and warm and _real,_ and Kurt feels it in his gut, stitching back the fragments of his trust and his confidence and his heart. 

Maybe it won’t be right now, and maybe it won’t be tomorrow, either, but in the end, they’re going to be just fine.

* * *

Things get easier after that. 

They spend a ridiculously long amount of time trying to figure out how they _hadn’t_ known their two professors were together - the school isn’t big at all, but the rumor mill is always grinding away, and this seems like something _worth knowing._

Because Dr. White and Dr. Young don’t go together in the slightest - except they apparently do. 

But then Kurt and Blaine stray from talking about their professors, tentatively winding from topic to topic, all light, all surface level but fun and enticing all the same. 

They stay until Kurt’s phone begins to incessantly light up with messages from Rachel, asking him if he wants to pick up takeout on his way home and _when_ he’ll be home and, for some reason, _if_ he’ll be home at all. 

As if he has anywhere else to go. 

Kurt explains himself, rolling his eyes at her demands for vegan sushi, and Blaine gets it, deciding to stay behind to work on an essay but understandingly bidding him off. 

“I’m glad we did this,” Kurt says as he gets up, tying his scarf around his neck, and he really, truly means it. 

Blaine smiles up at him, and he nods, then pauses, then speaks. 

“Kurt? Before you go?”

“What is it?” he asks immediately, heart leaping into his throat. He has no idea what to expect, what Blaine’s about to tell him.

He doesn’t even know what to hope for. 

“I, uh… I really did want to apologize for what happened,” Blaine says softly, looking down the table for a moment before looking back up at Kurt, eyes more earnest and warm than Kurt’s seen them in days. “I know I owe you an explanation, but I… I guess I’m still not sure why I reacted like that. But… You didn’t deserve it. I-I don’t mind that you’re gay. I hope you know that.”

It’s another step - a _big_ one - big enough, in fact, that Kurt feels shaken to his core and finally settled all at once. He has so many questions, and there’s so much left unsaid, but he leaves it.

Regardless of where Blaine’s coming from, Kurt needs him to know how sorry he is for any of it happening in the first place, for anything that affected Blaine at all, because all Blaine deserves is sweetness and happiness, regardless of who it’s from.

“I should apologize again, too,” Kurt says, quickly holding up a finger when Blaine opens his mouth, not wanting to give him the chance to reject it again. “No, just- just let me. I meant everything I said in that text. I-I care about you, and I shouldn’t have risked making you uncomfortable. I hate that I did. And I’ll… It’s not a big deal. Not the first time I’ve been turned down.”

It’s a joke, and it’s a lame one, but Kurt punctuates it with a shrug and an awkward chuckle regardless, unable to stop himself from doing it.

“I just… I just don’t see you that way,” Blaine says with a tone Kurt can’t place, a look on his face that doesn’t help at all. “I can’t, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Kurt echoes, trying his best not to falter, to take it in stride.

Because it’s not that Kurt’s ugly or undateable, and it’s not that he isn’t worth being around, because Blaine’s still here, wanting to be his friend. It’s just that Blaine’s straight.

Obviously.

* * *

_**warblersong:** You know what’s weird? _

_**sirelphaba:** You? _

_**warblersong:** Hey! I resent that >:-( _

_**sirelphaba:** I never said it was a bad thing! _

_**sirelphaba:** But okay, okay. I’ll bite. What’s weird, Warb? _

_**warblersong:** You really only know most people in one setting. What they’re like as a coworker, or as a boss, or as a teacher, or as a friend. It’s totally one-dimensional, but it’s still enough for you to make a whole list of assumptions about them, even though you don’t know a thing. _

_**warblersong:** But every single person out there is someone’s child, maybe someone’s sibling, parent, lover… And your perceptions of them could be right, or they could be totally wrong, but you’ll probably never know. _

_**warblersong:** It’s just...weird. _

_**sirelphaba:** Do you think people have an accurate perception of you? _

_**warblersong:** I always figured they did. But who knows? _

_**warblersong:** I’m starting to wonder if you can even have an accurate perception of yourself. Or if every test you can run on yourself will end up inconclusive every time because you’re always learning and changing and growing, or at least you should be. _

_**sirelphaba:** We’re all works in progress, I suppose. _

_**warblersong:** Yeah. Maybe we are. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the whole professors thing came from my own experience my senior year of college where I realized my history professor from freshman year, that I thought was like 50, was not only pregnant but MARRIED to another one of our professors and they already had a kid together. it was a whole thing!!
> 
> and I got in an argument w her husband once and I won but that’s neither here nor there anyways!!!


	10. join

It takes a couple of weeks for Kurt and Blaine to return to their usual cafe - in fact, Kurt hadn’t particularly expected that they would, but when Blaine suggests it on a particularly chilly late-November afternoon, Kurt goes willingly.

He’s missed their butternut squash soup, which always warms him from the inside out without fail - and the fact that things feel more or less back to normal warms him, too.

There are a few small changes between them, though, more from Kurt’s side than Blaine’s: trying to keep a bit more space between them when they sit next to one another, trying to keep things light, trying to avoid those moments where they’d lock eyes and Kurt would feel lost in a rush of gold and amber.

He wants to keep Blaine comfortable, and he wants to get over his crush, and this is the easiest way to do it.

And when Kurt _does_ feel the butterflies in his stomach, or when he feels a flutter of lightness in his chest, he simply waits for it to go away.

He knows it will - he just needs time, and soon enough, the awkwardness of the entire situation will be a distant memory, even something old and laughable between two friends.

Someday.

But there’s something new from Blaine, too, that confuses Kurt more than anything else when it happens - they’re chatting about their weekend plans over plates of biscotti, something that should be completely harmless and easy.

“There’s a show at a little club that I might go to on Saturday night,” Kurt explains, nibbling the chocolate off the end of his piece. “Eliott’s playing with a friend of his.”

He doesn’t think anything of it - but then Blaine’s face clouds over, and he tenses visibly, and Kurt has no idea what’s going on. 

“Oh, that’s- You and Elliott, um,” Blaine swallows, looking completely and entirely uncomfortable. “You...seem to be pretty close.”

“We are, yes,” Kurt agrees slowly, feeling suspicious. “He’s one of the first people I hit it off with in the city, actually.”

“And he’s, um, your…”

Blaine trails off, as if he doesn’t want to say it - whether it’s out of shame, embarrassment, disgust, Kurt isn’t sure, and he isn’t sure he wants to know, either.

“I’m not sure that’s entirely your business,” he says cooly, straightening up in his chair in a self-protective measure. He doesn’t understand why Blaine is acting so strange, why Blaine _cares,_ and it bothers him. It isn’t fair. “But if you must know, we’re friends. He’s a great one, actually.”

In fact, spending time with Elliott has always been easy, drama-free, never an ounce of tension between them. 

Unlike this. Unlike with Blaine. 

Again.

“Right, right, of course,” Blaine nods, staring down at the biscotti he’s crumbling in his hands. “That’s… That’s really nice.”

It doesn’t _sound_ like Blaine thinks it’s nice at all. 

It sounds like Blaine is jealous. 

Or it would, if Kurt didn’t know any better. 

But he knows better, under no uncertain terms.

Yet somehow, he feels like he’s never understood Blaine less.

* * *

When Kurt gets home from the cafe that evening, he decides he’s had enough.

He’s had enough of stressing about any of this, of trying to fix it and make it better, of wondering what’s going on in Blaine’s head - because he’s never going to know. He’s never going to figure it out.

He’s tired. He’s over it.

He’ll be Blaine’s friend, and he’ll study with him at the cafe and probably buy him some sort of Christmas present to thank him for all of his help at the end of the semester, but he can’t let himself be emotionally invested in someone whose own emotions are a jerky whirlwind of a rollercoaster the way Blaine’s have so oddly become.

He just can’t.

Instead, he makes a few calls - one to Rachel, asking her to pick up something sweet on the way home, one to their favorite pizza place, ordering a couple of vegan pies, and one to Elliott, telling him to come over and join them.

They make quick work of it all, and just over an hour later, their bellies are full from the pizza and their limbs are loose from the pack of beers Elliott carted along with him, and they’re all sprawled out - Kurt and Rachel lying on either end of the sofa, legs tangled in the middle, Elliott spread like a starfish right there on the floor, easy and comfortable.

It’s exactly what Kurt needed, and he feels soothed by the occasionally aimless bursts of chatter and laughs in the room, rising and falling against a playlist of Fleetwood Mac playing quietly in the background.

The part of him that still wishes he could share something like this with Blaine, could create this feeling together, be simple and happy in each other’s presence, if only - he pushes it down, pushes it away, ignores it completely.

Instead, his head lolls to the side, over towards Elliott, lazily watching him swipe through profiles on Grindr, though Elliott more or less ends up ignoring every guy he pulls up.

It’s something Kurt’s never done before, never particularly had an interest in - for one thing, he’s been entirely too busy playing catch-up after his late admission at NYADA to even truly consider putting in the work to seek out someone to date or to just- _be_ with. But he’s never seen the point in casual, at least not for himself.

He doesn’t necessarily have the time for it, but he doesn’t exactly trust his heart _not_ to go all-in once given the opportunity, either. 

“I don’t see how you do it,” he muses, keeping his voice soft as to not bother Rachel, who’s begun to snore gently on the other end of the couch. “Just- Hook up with guys on Grindr like that, I mean. I wish I could, but I just… Don’t think I have it in me.”

If only he did, maybe everything with Blaine would have slipped right off his shoulders like water down a duck’s back, not getting to him in the slightest. 

If only.

“Eh. If you’re both looking for the same thing, it’s pretty easy,” Elliott shrugs, looking over at Kurt with a half-smile. They’re different in this way, but it’s never something that’s come between them - there’s no judgement in Kurt’s words or his intentions, never has been, even though there is a particular sticking point for him, and he says it.

“But don’t you just wonder- Those guys… They’re somebody’s friend, somebody’s _child,_ and they have a whole life and a personality and hopes and dreams and-”

“It’s not that deep, Kurt,” Elliott laughs, reaching over to lightly knock at Kurt’s hand, his arm dangling off the couch. “But it’s fine. Hooking up isn’t for everybody.”

Kurt turns to look back up at the ceiling, folding his arms back behind his head, feeling a little childish, a little ridiculous for how much he overthinks it, like there’s a part of his skin he still hasn’t grown into, and maybe he hasn’t.

“Maybe there’s a part of me that’s still just a silly romantic.”

“You’ll find somebody som- _Oh._ No way. _No way.”_

Sitting up slightly, Kurt looks down at Elliott curiously, startled.

“What?” he asks, all the more confused at the baffled expression he finds on Elliott’s face, somewhere between a borderline-laugh and concern. “Did you find your ex or something?”

“No, just- Look.”

Elliott holds out his phone, presenting the screen to Kurt, who ducks forward to peer in, whose heart instantly drops, because it’s Blaine.

Obviously straight, _not_ gay Blaine.

On Grindr.

* * *

_**sirelphaba:** Have you ever dated anyone? _

_**warblersong:** I thought this was one of the personal topics on our not-to-breach list. _

_**sirelphaba:** It...it is, yes. Sorry. I guess it’s on my mind because I really haven’t, and I feel like I should have by now. Full disclosure. _

_**warblersong:** It’s fine, Elphie. I haven’t either. _

_**warblersong:** I guess I never gave it much thought growing up. I just figured it would happen eventually like it seems to for everybody else. _

_**warblersong:** Funny you ask, though, because it’s been on my mind, too. And it’s confusing. Really confusing. _

_**sirelphaba:** Maybe it’s one of those things. Everybody makes it look easy, but maybe nobody knows what they're doing at all, and they have to work to figure it out._

_**sirelphaba:** But maybe it’s more worth it in the end that way, when it’s something you have to fight for. _

_**warblersong:** Maybe. Or maybe not. Right now, I feel like I don’t truly understand a single thing. _


	11. knit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments have been....a lot of fun! I know, I know, blaine's acting weird and confusing, but be patient. he's confused too, but it'll all make sense in due time (I hope!)

Kurt has no idea what to make of it.

Actually, he makes _several_ things of it, but he can’t focus on a single one - he lays in bed sleeplessly that night, cycling through anger, confusion, offense, confusion, annoyance, more confusion-

But he lands on empathy.

It might be because he’s tired, or it might be because he has a teeny, tiny shred of hope for Blaine in the very depths of his heart, but Kurt decides to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He knows he doesn’t know Blaine well, but he sees the passion in Blaine’s soul for music, and he sees the goodness in Blaine’s heart from his ever-present willingness to help, and he sees the warmth in Blaine’s eyes and the genuineness in Blaine’s smile, and someone who is so naturally all of those things wouldn’t be someone that lies about their sexuality to get out of a date, wouldn’t be someone who runs away just because he doesn’t have feelings.

It has to be something more, something deeper, something more complicated.

Whether Blaine’s questioning, repressed, hiding himself because of family or anything else…

It’s hard, and Kurt feels for him.

He gets it - even though his own path to accepting himself wasn’t the same, even though it happened a lot sooner, he gets it.

And if he can be there for Blaine, regardless of how it turns out and what ends up being true, he wants to be.

But Kurt’s empathy shifts into genuine worry, true concern when he walks into theory class the next morning and catches sight of Blaine in his usual seat, finds him slumped, clearly tired, weary, even from behind.

Blaine’s head is bowed over the table, hands wrapped around a thermos of coffee, and as Kurt grows closer, can make out his face well enough to see his eyebrows are knit together and his mouth is drawn into a frown, lost in some sort of far-off, turbulent thought.

“Hey,” Kurt says softly, hoping not to disturb him but does so all the same, wincing as Blaine flinches and jerks his head up, though he works to avoid meeting Kurt’s gaze entirely. “You alright?”

“Oh, I’m…” Blaine stops himself, attempts to draw in a breath, eyes flicking briefly to Kurt’s, away again in an instant, as if that will help his case. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Kurt eyes him carefully, watches as Blaine’s lower lip quivers of its own accord, watches as Blaine blinks heavily and listens as he clears his throat, the sound wet and choked.

And he knows Blaine isn’t okay at all.

“Let’s get out of here, okay?” Kurt suggests quietly, silently pleading for Blaine to say yes, knowing they have just enough time to slip out before their professor gets there. “Let’s ditch. You look like you need to get some air.”

Still looking away, still averting his eyes, Blaine nods, a jerky, jagged motion, and he exhales a whisper of an _okay._

* * *

It’s freezing out - the sun is hiding behind a dense wash of clouds, the cold bite of wind is nipping at Kurt’s nose and his ears, and he’s grateful he’s finally remembered to start wearing gloves and a scarf, even when he’s just ducking between school buildings.

The cold doesn’t seem to bother Blaine.

In fact, he seems ready to shed his scarf and his coat and his sweater, all of his layers, even his skin, as if he’s coming right out of it - his breathing is ragged, puffing visibly in the air, and his face is schooled into a carefully neutral expression, a mask in every way.

But Kurt knows what it’s like to pretend everything is fine when it’s all crumbling to shambles, all rubble and ashes inside - when his mother died, when his dad was sick, when he spent years and years being bullied, beaten, kicked, shoved.

He sees it now, reflected back at him. He sees himself in Blaine.

And so as Blaine walks, Kurt follows - for blocks, and for blocks, and for blocks, countless numbers of them, until Kurt’s face and his ears are numb and his legs are burning, until he feels the strange mix of over-warmed underneath his clothes yet cold from the outside.

Kurt follows until they nearly pass the chocolate shop he fell in love with, having discovered it when taking his dad and Carole out for an indulgence during their last visit - he makes a split-second decision, reaches out, grabs Blaine’s elbow, stops him in his tracks.

“Let me buy you a hot cocoa,” he says, ensuring his voice is gentle yet insistent, making sure Blaine knows he won’t take no for an answer.

When Blaine turns to truly look at him for the first time since they left class, his mouth is curled up in the tiniest hint of a smile, and Kurt knows he’s made the right choice. 

He doesn’t want to ask Blaine what’s wrong, and he doesn’t want to ask if he’s okay. He doesn’t want to push in the slightest, so he won’t. 

He’ll let Blaine come to him in his own time - but until then, he can buy him hot chocolate. 

Hot cocoa helps everything, and Kurt says as much once they pick their to-go cups up off the counter, venturing back into the cold. 

“I think you’re right,” Blaine agrees, tongue darting out to lick a dab of whipped cream off of the bow of his upper lip after he takes his first sip. “This is- It’s incredible.”

Kurt lets out a pleased hum, satisfied with both the rich, decadent chocolate coating his tongue and Blaine’s reaction, too. They’re walking side-by-side on the sidewalk, now, at a more reasonable walking pace, and though it means more time spent in the wind and the chill in the air, it feels better.

It feels _just_ a bit more settled, just a bit more normal.

“The guy that owns it - He’s this world-renown French chocolatier,” he explains, pointing to the label reading _Jacques Torres Chocolate_ on the cup. “A pastry chef, too. I could drain my whole savings account just buying chocolate, I swear.”

“I might have to go back for some of those cookies,” Blaine admits, glancing at Kurt with another crack of a smile. “They looked way too good.”

“Oh, that’s exactly what they are. Dangerously good, actually.”

Kurt can’t help but feel like he’s helping, like he’s doing something right, as they retrace their steps and savor their drinks and continue to chat, too. Blaine is quiet, and he’s subdued, but he’s _here,_ and he seems less at risk of shattering into a million pieces, seems a little less at war with himself.

Blaine seems like maybe he’ll be okay - not now, maybe not even soon, but eventually.

By the time they make it back to the music studies building, ready to part for their separate classes, they’ve drained their hot cocoas and disposed of their empty cups, and Kurt wants to try, just one more time.

He wants to say _something,_ to offer himself, to remind Blaine that he’s willing, that he’s open - but he doesn’t want to scare Blaine off, either.

So Kurt stops and turns to stand in front of Blaine, offering him a small, kind smile, twisting his gloved fingers together nervously behind his back.

“If you ever need anything, Blaine…” he begins tentatively, trying to stay vague, unsuspicious. “Even just an ear- _oof-”_

And Blaine’s body is colliding into Kurt’s own, burying his face in Kurt’s shoulder and holding on tight and immediately trembling, be it from the cold finally hitting him or from something else entirely.

Kurt hesitates for only a moment before wrapping Blaine up in his arms, rubbing his back with his gloved hand, holding, holding, holding him right back until he feels Blaine’s breathing even out, feels the shaking slowly subside. 

He doesn’t say a word, but he knows he doesn’t need to.

He knows Blaine will speak in his own time.

And Kurt will wait.

* * *

_**warblersong:** Hey, I know it’s late, but are you around? _

_**warblersong:** Never mind _

_**sirelphaba:** No, hey, I’m here. What’s going on? Are you okay? _

_**warblersong:** I actually don’t know _

_**warblersong:** I just needed somebody to talk to, I guess _

_**sirelphaba:** You can talk to me. I’m here. _

_**warblersong:** Have you ever met someone that changes everything, just by being there? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my impulsive ode to jacques torres, ily jacques torres and I can't wait to go to nyc and visit ur chocolate shop someday


	12. learn

He should’ve known the long walk in the cold would come back to bite him in the ass.

Despite the hot cocoa, Kurt had felt chilled to the bone for the rest of the day, even after a long, hot shower - paired with the stress of classes, plus close quarters with countless people in classes and on the subway and on the sidewalks, it’s a recipe for disaster.

And now, a few days later, he’s sick.

Completely and utterly sick.

He’d felt a tickle in the back of his throat the night before, but he'd ignored it, hoping it would go away, assuming it was nothing. But now, even the next morning, it's entirely on fire, and he's exhausted.

He feels terrible, and he feels even worse knowing it means he needs to cancel on Blaine.

If it were just a typical study session during a normal week, on a usual day, he wouldn’t feel as bad, but with everything that’s been going on, he doesn’t want Blaine to take it personally.

He doesn’t want to deprive Blaine of an opportunity for support, either.

But Kurt’s throat is killing him, and his nose is stuffy, and his abs are already aching with the force of his coughs, and he knows he needs to stay home.

He tugs his warmest blanket further around his shoulders, and he picks up the phone, and he dials.

“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine answers after just a couple of rings, a smile in his voice. “What’s up?”

“Hi-” It comes out as a croak, and Kurt winces, clears his throat, tries again. “Sorry, hi. Look, I hate to do this, but-”

“Wait, are you sick?” Blaine cuts in, and Kurt feels a gentle wash of comfort like easy, warm sunshine at the concern in his voice. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

The rapid fire of well-meaning questions makes Kurt smile, and he twists his free hand into his blanket, thumbing slowly back and forth against the fluffy material, reveling in the feeling of being cared for, cared _about,_ even if for only a moment, even if he doesn’t need it. 

“I think I’ll live,” Kurt says dryly, punctuating it with a series of coughs that start dramaticized but turn real, wracking his chest. “Anyways, I am, yes. So, um. I was calling to say I don’t think I can make it later.”

“Of course, of course. You need to stay home.”

“I’m sorry.” Kurt’s voice softens, and he bows his head, feeling the guilt and the regret of cancelling more heavily than he needs to, magnified and amplified by his exhaustion and his cold medicine, probably. He pulls himself out of it after a moment, though, at least long enough to try to make light of it. “I know how much you were looking forward to torturing me with extra part-writing exercises.”

“It’s fun once you get the hang of it!” Blaine insists, and Kurt can hear him laugh, small and brief but audible all the same. But then he quiets, and Kurt doesn’t speak, either, isn’t sure what else to say.

“Let me bring you soup?” Blaine offers in a blurt of a question just when Kurt’s ready to apologize again and hang up.

Kurt freezes, glad Blaine can’t see him because he’s gaping, unsure, shaken.

“Y-You don’t have to do that,” he stammers, suddenly questioning everything - his appearance, his voice, his yoga pants and ridiculously oversized sweater, Blaine in his apartment, Blaine’s motives, _Blaine._

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Blaine says, and Kurt can practically see the faux-stern look that must be on his face, insistent yet soft, too, caring. “We had plans, anyway, and after lately, I… Just let me, okay?”

He’s rarely heard Blaine so steadfast, so set on something, and whatever journey Blaine is going through, maybe this is part of it. 

Maybe it’s a step. 

“Alright,” Kurt relents with a sniffle, biting back a smile of his own as he forces himself to give in. He’s tired, feeling worn and gross and near miserable, but he knows Blaine really means it, knows it’s an argument he won’t win.

And soup _does_ sound good, after all.

“What’s your address?”

* * *

When the knock comes at Kurt’s door, he’s surprised - it doesn’t seem like it’s been long enough, like Blaine had enough time to make it all the way to Kurt’s apartment, but he realizes, too, that he’d dozed off right after they hung up, and he has no idea what time it is.

He rubs his bleary eyes as he pads to the front door, willing himself to wake up, hoping he doesn’t look too entirely dreadful as he opens it.

And there’s Blaine, a small, earnest smile on his face, a nervous spark in his eye, bundled up in warm clothes, slightly rosy cheeks standing out amongst a matching navy scarf and hat.

As much as Kurt tries to keep himself from thinking it, Blaine looks completely and utterly adorable - it’s impossible not to notice.

And he’s _here,_ at Kurt’s door, about to come into Kurt’s _apartment,_ out of nothing but simply the goodness of his heart, and that in itself - it’s enough to make Kurt want to stick around, enough for Kurt to want to be patient and to wait to learn and to understand, no matter how rocky things have been and may or may not continue to be.

Blaine is someone special, and Kurt wants him in his life. That’s all there is to it.

“Hi,” Blaine greets, rocking up and down slightly on the balls of his feet. “How are you feeling?”

“I think I’ll be okay in a day or two,” Kurt says, clearing the congestion out of his throat to center himself, stepping back to let Blaine in. “But thank you for this, really. I didn’t know how much I wanted soup until I realized I didn’t have any earlier.”

“Guess I had a feeling,” Blaine shrugs with a crooked half-smile, holding up a brown Trader Joe’s bag and passing it to Kurt in offering. Kurt takes it, peeks inside, finds it’s filled with a Thermos, likely of soup, a loaf of bread, even a box of herbal teas and a small plastic bear of honey.

It’s incredibly thoughtful, above and beyond in every way, and Kurt smiles to himself as he carries the bag into the kitchen, lifting it onto the counter so he can pull everything out, get it all put away before he sits down again - he feels the tiredness tugging at him already, and he know once he retreats back to the couch, he won’t be getting back up again.

“I hope you don’t get sick, too,” Kurt says conversationally as he empties the bag, trying to keep things casual as he hears Blaine’s footsteps following him into the small kitchen. “I think there’s something going around campus. My classes have practically been half-empty this week.”

Blaine goes quiet, doesn’t answer for so long that Kurt’s hands go still, fingers freezing as he folds up the brown paper bag. He waits - but Blaine continues to say nothing, and it’s silent enough in the room that Kurt’s own breathing feels too loud, and he wonders if Blaine is even breathing at all.

It doesn’t sound like he is.

“Are you alright?” Kurt checks, his voice soft, and when he turns around, they’re much closer together than he realized they would be, and there’s a look in Blaine’s eyes that he’s never seen before, never seen from anyone. 

He doesn’t have the chance to step away. 

All at once, Blaine is stepping forward and pressing Kurt into the counter and kissing him, his mouth messily insistent as it searches, searches, finding everything Kurt is powerless to do anything but _give._ And Blaine’s hands are gripping Kurt’s upper arms, fingers digging into the thick knit of his sweater sleeves and holding on, and Blaine is making these desperate, needy noises from the back of his throat that make Kurt’s toes curl in his wool socks against the hardwood floor. 

But there’s a terrifying sweetness to it, too, lurking there underneath the surface, in the feeling of Blaine’s harsh exhales from his nose ghosting warm against Kurt’s skin, in the softness of his lips, regardless of the intensity of the press and of the motion. 

Somewhere far, far in the back of his mind, Kurt knows this isn’t right - not the right time, at least. He knows it won’t end well. He knows that Blaine isn’t ready. 

But he knows, too, that his heart has been aching for this boy since the day they met, and he’s _here, here,_ and Kurt can’t do anything but sink into it, hold Blaine’s waist, melt entirely. 

Until Blaine pulls away - _rips_ away, really, there one moment and gone the next, nothing but cold, earth-shattering air in his place. 

By the time Kurt gets his bearings and opens his eyes, Blaine is out the door, letting it slam loudly behind him with a noise that shakes Kurt to the core. 

And Kurt doesn’t have the voice or the courage to call after him.

* * *

_**warblersong:** Fuck_

_**warblersong:** I fucked up_

_**warblersong:** I don’t know what to do_

_**sirelphaba:** What? Are you okay? What happened?_

_**warblersong:** I can’t_

_**warblersong:** I fucked up_

_**sirelphaba:** What are you talking about??_

_**sirelphaba:** Are you there? You’re scaring me_

_**warblersong:** I don’t even know _

_**sirelphaba:** Look. Fuck these stupid rules I made. Call me, okay? Just call me. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out._

_**warblersong:** But we said_

_**sirelphaba:** I know. But you’re more important than all that._

* * *

Kurt sends a message with his phone number, trying to keep his hands from shaking. After earlier - it’s all nearly too much. 

No. It _is_ too much. 

But warblersong is Kurt’s oldest friend, as little as they know about each other, and Kurt’s never heard him like this. 

Years of anonymous back-and-forth, and this is it. All at once, this is what makes it all real. 

The phone vibrates in his grip, and Kurt’s heart leaps into his throat. 

He looks down at the screen.

* * *

_Incoming call from Blaine Anderson_


	13. meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say I'm so grateful for all of your comments, and I'm so sorry I haven't been replying! writing a chapter every day after work unfortunately means I don't have a whole lot of time for answering them :-( but please know I'm reading them all and they're all so fun and I cherish each and every one! <3

It takes Kurt a long, frozen moment to process what he’s looking at.

He had expected warblersong - or a call from an unknown number, rather.

But now, here’s Blaine.

His first instinct is that it’s a coincidence, that Blaine happens to be calling right around the same time, and that it’ll soon be interrupted with another dial from whoever warblersong is, but it almost doesn’t matter.

Because Blaine’s  _ calling. _

After the way he had run off, Kurt didn’t expect to hear from Blaine anytime soon - or, truly, ever again, and he isn’t sure he even  _ wants  _ to hear from Blaine, either. The kiss had rocked his world and left him reeling, spinning, spinning, falling with nowhere to land, and before he’s had a chance to even begin processing it, Blaine is  _ calling  _ him.

He can practically still feel the ghost of Blaine’s touch on his arms, the burn and the tingle of his lips, the shock of the cold air at the abrupt end of it all. 

He doesn’t want to answer - for himself, and because it might mean missing warblersong’s call, but if, by some chance, Blaine  _ isn’t  _ okay, and Kurt ignores it…

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“Hello?” he answers cautiously, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. 

“I-Is this, um… Is this Elphie?”

_ Blaine. Warblersong.  _

Warblersong  _ is Blaine. _

And Blaine doesn’t  _ know. _

_ God,  _ he probably just clicked on the phone number in Kurt’s message and dialed straight from there, wouldn’t have checked to see if the number was already in his contacts because why  _ would  _ it be, what are the odds of  _ this,  _ of the person Kurt’s been talking to online for  _ years,  _ the person he had gotten vague advice from  _ about Blaine  _ actually  _ being  _ Blaine, and somehow they’ve had no idea this entire time, somehow they’d never figured it out, but now-

“Are you there?”

Blaine is speaking again, his voice small and tentative through the phone, and Kurt has to bite the bullet.

He has to.

“This- Yes. It’s…” Kurt pauses, swallows, hesitates, squeezes his eyes closed. “Blaine, it’s me. It’s Kurt. I’m… I’m sirelphaba.”

He braces for impact.

He’s met with only silence.

Long enough that he pulls the phone away from his face, expecting the call to have been dropped, for Blaine to have hung up - but the seconds are still counting upward, the call still active, connected.

Kurt lets out a shaky breath, puts the phone back to his ear, but he has no idea what else to say.

And so he waits.

He waits, with his eyes still tightly shut, his free hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist, his heart pounding so loudly he isn’t sure if he’ll be able to hear Blaine’s voice at all, if he ever speaks.

Yet, when he finally does, Kurt hears him loud and clear, the sound in his ear a shaking, trembling waver that shoots straight into Kurt’s chest.

“W-What?”

“I...I-I’m just as surprised as you are,” Kurt manages, hoping, pleading, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that Blaine knows he means it, that Blaine understands that Kurt didn’t know, either, that he hadn’t been betraying Blaine’s trust and privacy under a guise of anonymity all along. “I swear, I-”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

Blaine sounds like he’s panicking, and Kurt is near it himself, but before he can do anything about it, before he can find a way to somehow do damage control while he’s breaking into a thousand tiny pieces of his own, the line goes dead, and it’s too late.

For the third time, Blaine ran, leaving Kurt behind and lost and hurt and confused.

And at more of a loss than ever before.

* * *

Kurt’s exhausted - emotionally, mentally, physically, in every conceivable way, but he can’t sleep.

He can't stop thinking about all of it. The kiss, Blaine running, warblersong, Blaine calling, everything coming together and colliding and breaking all at once, throwing him into a tailspin, but he can't help but think the way _he_ feels about it almost doesn't matter.

He knows he can go down the hall and find Rachel and have her console him, or he can call Elliott and go out for some fun with him, or he can call his dad and Carole to catch up and fill his heart with warmth, and he knows he's strong, and he's capable, and he'll be fine.

But if Blaine is so desperately, so intensely at war with himself, almost all internal, almost all self-inflicted, there’s no way he’s opened up to anyone.

The only way Kurt knows about it at all is because he’s gotten sucked right into the thick of it, drew himself right in from the start.

And if Blaine isn’t talking to  _ him… _

Then he has no one.

Blaine is struggling, and he’s upset, and he’s  _ alone,  _ and Kurt can’t let him be.

He can’t.

Before Kurt can convince himself otherwise, he picks up his phone, dials the number, presses it to his ear with a trembling hand, but Blaine doesn’t answer.

Kurt shouldn’t have expected him to.

It still hurts, though, and it still worries him, and he isn’t sure if he’s more upset for himself or for Blaine, if he’s feeling more of Blaine’s pain or his own. It’s all jumbled and stirred and mixed and shoved together inside of him, filling him up with nerves and fear and anxiousness. 

He hates feeling this way.

He dials again, and it goes straight to voicemail.

And so Kurt resorts to the one thing that feels  _ different,  _ that still feels like a  _ chance. _

* * *

_**sirelphaba:** It’s me. It’s still me. I’m still Elphie. _

_**sirelphaba:** You won’t answer your phone, but I need you to know. I had no idea who you were. You have to believe me. _

_**sirelphaba:** Please believe me. _

_**sirelphaba:** I know we never expected to even exchange names, let alone meet, but we found each other anyways. Doesn’t that have to mean something? _

_**sirelphaba:** I still think you’re worth trying for. I know you are. _

_**sirelphaba:** But you have to stop running. At least stop running away from me. _

_**sirelphaba:** If you have to run, at least let me run with you. _


	14. nip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blaine will be back shortly, but in the meantime...
> 
> happy thanksgiving?

Kurt can’t decide if Thanksgiving break comes at the best or the worst time.

It’s a few days without classes, which means a few days where he has no reason or opportunity to be around Blaine, a few days where there isn’t a remote chance they’ll run into each other. 

It’s space - _forced_ space, and although he has a feeling it’s what Blaine needs, it’s hard for Kurt to give.

In fact, it’s nearly impossible for him to relinquish control over something he feels like he _could_ fix, if only given the chance. It feels tight, suffocating, like he has to forcibly keep himself from coming out of his skin, from hunting Blaine down and grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until he _stops_ this, until he realizes that he and Kurt _have_ something, _could_ have something, could have something _amazing_ if he just allowed himself to embrace the truth and the reality that’s so desperately trying to break free.

Even though he doesn’t know where Blaine lives, has no idea where he is at any given time, if he’s gone home to his family for the holiday, wherever home may be, Kurt feels inexplicably drawn to him like a magnet, like he won’t be able to _breathe_ again until he can wrap his arms around Blaine, not even to kiss him but just to _hug_ him again and to hold him until the fragmented pieces of him fuse back together and heal and it all gets better.

If only he were just given the _chance…_

But he isn’t.

Blaine _isn’t_ giving him a chance - Blaine’s leaving his messages unopened, leaving his calls unanswered, and Kurt gets it. He's held off on the texts and the messages and the calls since the night it happened, trying to hold onto the hope that time and space will help.

Because despite his inclinations and his desires, Kurt _can’t_ fix it, and he _can’t_ control this. He can’t make it all better just by holding Blaine - he knows that, most likely, him being there at all would make things worse right now, if anything.

But it doesn’t make it any easier for him to just sit idly by and do nothing, especially without his schedule offering its usual distractions, stuck in the city with Rachel on top of it all because the tickets home to Ohio were just too expensive to be worth it when they’re both about to go home for Christmas in a few weeks anyways.

It sucks.

It’s his first Thanksgiving away from home, and even though he never liked Ohio and had never been terribly partial to turkey and stuffing and the rest of it, either, he’s more homesick now than he’s ever been - he misses his dad, his stepmom, even Finn, and it doesn’t matter how much he texts them or calls them or even Skypes them.

It isn’t the same, not without being there.

And sure, Kurt knows Blaine needs space, and he respects it, and he feels in his gut that Blaine’s feelings and needs are more important than his own right now, but the homesickness is making him feel everything tenfold, making it all seem heavier on his shoulders, Blaine the weightiest of all.

He isn't sure how much longer he'll be able to bear it.

* * *

“Okay no, nope. We’re going to have to nip this _right_ in the bud.”

Rachel marches into the kitchen like she’s on a mission, no choice but to get right up in Kurt’s space, since he’s already there at the stove, split between cooking the green beans and mashing the potatoes for their makeshift vegan Thanksgiving. 

“What- Nip what?” he asks, mentally checking himself, trying to figure out what it is now. He knows the meal prep has Rachel stressed, but if he can do anything, it’s cook a damn good dinner, even in a miniscule kitchen. “What am I doing?”

“You’re moping, Kurt. _Again.”_ Rachel huffs, throwing her hands up in the air before opening the refrigerator, digging inside and talking all the while. “And I had _plans_ for our Thanksgiving, involving dressing up and cooking and acting like we were actual independent adults - plans which I _thought_ you shared, but if this is what you’re going to be like the whole time then-”

“Blaine kissed me,” he blurts, letting his grip on the wooden spoon loosen, watching it fall back into the pot, handle knocking against the side of it. “He came over, and he kissed me, and then he ran out. And now he won’t talk to me.”

And maybe Kurt _is_ moping about it. Maybe he’s moping about _all_ of it, and maybe he’s tired, and maybe he should be allowed to feel how he _feels_ in the comfort of his own home, especially considering he can’t do a thing about it, not until he’s allowed to, not until he’s let back in.

 _God,_ he hopes Blaine will let him back in.

But for the moment, it’s all a mess, and he’s still getting over his cold, too, and finals are coming up on top of all the rest of it, and he misses his dad like an ache in his chest, and it just- it all _sucks,_ regardless of how nice their dinner plans are.

When Rachel pokes her head out of the refrigerator, around the door, she looks exasperated, annoyed, not at all sympathetic.

“Him again?” 

“I _care_ about him, Rachel.” He feels defensive, _protective_ of Blaine in a way that makes him stand up straighter, ready to face anything on his behalf, even if he doesn’t know about it. “I’m not just- I’m not just going to give up on him when he’s obviously struggling.”

Rachel sighs, pulling out the tofurkey kit and bumping the refrigerator door shut with her hip, sliding in beside him and reaching to set the temperature on the oven to preheat. 

“But-” She stops herself, looks up at him, eyes suddenly wide and oddly soft, as if she’s somehow mustered up the willingness to understand. “Kurt, _why_ is all of this worth it?”

He can’t explain it.

He wouldn’t know where to begin - how to explain the years, _years,_ of friendship. He has no idea how to find a way to make sense of the reasons they stayed anonymous to each other the entire time, and the idea of telling an outsider, even Rachel, feels like a betrayal, a betrayal of Blaine’s privacy and even his own.

He just shakes his head, looking over to the half-mashed pot of potatoes, letting out a sigh.

“It just is,” he says as he grabs the masher and shoves it down with renowned vigor, knowing he sounds petulant for his words, but it’s true.

Blaine just _is_ worth it - he’s been worth it the entire time, long before Kurt knew he and warblersong were the same, and knowing that now doesn’t make it change in the slightest, doesn’t make Blaine any less worth the patience and the hurt and the confusion.

He just is.


	15. opinion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the boy(s) is (are) back

Kurt isn’t sure how he manages it, but he ends up with a B on his music theory final.

Of course, he credits a solid 20 points of his grade to Blaine, if not more, but their successful study sessions had truly only covered the scope of a few chapters in their textbook. There’s plenty of material they hadn’t gotten to, and plenty, as well, that had been overshadowed by everything else that’s been going on.

It had been the only final he was truly concerned about - most of his other classes are performance-based, and he’s nothing if not constantly prepared to leave it all onstage at the drop of a hat, and his musical theater history class ended with a final paper as opposed to an exam, something he’d aced easily, considering his opinions and interpretations always seemed to line up with his professor’s, meaning he spent nearly all of the week between Thanksgiving and finals absolutely cramming for theory.

And, of course, being reminded of Blaine.

It throws a bit of a wrench in his plans for productivity, making his mind wander. Strangely, there’s hints of Blaine everywhere in music theory now - certain chord progressions trigger memories of Blaine singing the basslines, certain vocabulary terms remind Kurt of the silly made-up songs Blaine came up with to help him memorize definitions, certain pages of his notebook even have Blaine’s handwriting scrawled in the margins, mostly extra tips but occasionally goofy little doodles that make him smile. 

It’s just Blaine, Blaine everywhere, in the music and the notes and the leger lines - and maybe, really, that isn’t strange at all.

Coming into class to take the test had been awkward, with Kurt slipping into his back-up seat in the far corner again, attempting to remain quiet and invisible in every way. He hadn’t wanted to bother Blaine, hadn’t wanted to throw him off or distract him, knowing how important his grades are to him.

But unlike the last time Kurt had sat in the back, Blaine sought him out, locked eyes with Kurt, offered him the tiniest, faintest hint of a smile before sinking into his usual chair.

It had thrown Kurt off and centered him all at once, had shaken him and helped him focus, too.

And in the end, he had managed to get a full 84% of the questions correct.

Somehow.

* * *

Once his final grades are all in and posted, Kurt decides he deserves a treat.

He knows that going to the cafe where he and Blaine used to study is a risk - he has no idea if Blaine would be there, doesn’t particularly  _ expect  _ him to be, but it feels like an intrusion all the same, like he’s stepping on Blaine’s toes, encroaching on his territory.

But he bundles himself up and he grabs his wallet and he goes anyways, because he knows their fall menu is about to expire for the season, and he needs one last pumpkin muffin.

Desperately.

He shivers as he steps inside, the warm, sweet-smelling air of the coffee shop hitting him like a wall, a sharp contrast to the frigid, near-snowy weather he’s just walked through, his nose and ears gone cold and numb, and of course-

There Blaine is, curled up in his usual chair, an empty mug and saucer on the coffee table in front of him, nose buried in a book.

Shit.

Kurt doesn’t know if he should say something, if he should make himself known.

Right away, though, he gets the feeling it would look worse if he didn’t. The cafe is too small to hide, and if Blaine looks up, there’s no way he  _ won’t _ see Kurt. And then he might wonder why Kurt didn’t say hello, why Kurt’s avoiding him, and although Kurt has no idea if his presence will be wanted or if Blaine will run away again, he’ll be mad at himself for wasting the opportunity regardless, just in case.

He shakes his muddled head, and he takes a deep breath, and he walks over.

“Hi,” he says quietly, siding up next to Blaine’s armchair, not wanting to startle him - and for once, he doesn’t. Blaine sets his book down and looks up at Kurt, his eyes still tired but unafraid, as if he’s expected Kurt to be here, almost, as if he were waiting for Kurt all along.

“Hey, um. What are you doing here?” 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about those pumpkin muffins,” Kurt admits, motioning vaguely towards the display atop the glass case at the counter, feeling like it’s a flimsy excuse, regardless of how true it is. “I...wasn’t trying to- I don’t know. Stalk you or something. I-I know this is kind of...your place.”

“It’s your place now, too,” Blaine insists, his voice warmer than any cup of coffee could be, and he sounds like he means it.

There’s a brief awkward silence that falls over them, thick and uncomfortable, and Blaine looks conflicted, as if he’s torn between asking Kurt to sit and excusing himself away, and Kurt feels the same way.

He doesn’t know what to do - but he knows he doesn’t want to leave, not quite yet.

“I passed my theory final,” Kurt says, looking down at his shoes in a rare moment of shyness, scuffing the toe of his boot against the tile floor. “Got a B, actually. In case you wanted to know.”

When he looks up, he finds Blaine smiling - and it’s a genuine smile, too, like Blaine’s found the sun behind the snow and the clouds and is trying to teach it how to shine again, eyes sparkling and crinkling at the corners.

“I knew you could do it,” Blaine tells him, kind and supportive in every way, and despite it all, despite Kurt’s best efforts and despite the mess of it all, his heart flutters, and his stomach flips, and he feels proud of himself, feels important.

When Blaine smiles at him, when he  _ makes  _ Blaine smile, Kurt feels like he’s doing something right - and now, the feeling is tenfold, like there’s finally a true step in the right direction, like there’s still a chance that they’ll make it out of the fire and the rubble and maybe even be stronger for it.

It’s such a simple conversation, containing no acknowledgement of what happened or the rift of silence that’s stretched between them since, but there doesn’t need to be, not yet. They both know it’ll come, and they’ll get there, and for once, Kurt doesn’t feel the need to control or to fix or to push anymore.

He’ll wait.

And so Kurt thanks Blaine and leaves him to his book, and he gets his latte and his pumpkin muffin to go, and when he steps back out into the cold, it doesn’t quite get to him the way it did before.

It’s progress.

* * *

_**warblersong:** Hi _

_**sirelphaba:** Blaine, hey. Are you alright? _

_**warblersong:** I feel like I’m ready to talk, but I’m kind of afraid to _

_**warblersong:** And I know I don’t deserve for you to listen or to agree to this, but...this is the only way I feel like I can do it _

_**warblersong:** When I even think about saying any of it out loud, it’s like I can’t breathe _

_**warblersong:** I’m sorry. I know I keep dragging you into all of this, and I know it’s not fair. I just feel so out of control about all of it. But you don’t have to say yes. I probably shouldn’t have messaged you. _

_**sirelphaba:** Warb. _

_**sirelphaba:** I’m here. _

_**warblersong is typing…** _


	16. possibile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a 2 chapter kind of day!
> 
> I know, I know, I've read your comments begging me for some Blaine POV. this isn't quite it, but...hopefully it helps :-)
> 
> formatting's a little different, but I tried to keep it clear! let's go!

**warblersong:** I’m sorry that this is probably going to be long and sound ridiculous, but I feel like I’ve done so much thinking this past couple of weeks and it all traces back really, really far, and I don’t think any of it even begins to make sense unless I give you the background on everything you still don’t know about me. 

_**sirelphaba:** It’s okay. No more apologies, alright? I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me._

**warblersong:** Okay...

 **warblersong** : My family is very traditional. My dad is a CEO that works more often than he doesn’t, and my mom is a housewife, but I wouldn’t call her a stay-at-home mom. I spent my childhood with nannies, and she was always off doing things with her “girls.” Shopping and going on trips and spa days and things like that. I think she sells makeup for one of those companies that makes you feel like you’re making money, but you’re really helping them scam.

 **warblersong:** But that doesn’t matter. Anyways, I basically grew up in this environment where my parents were never around much, but they care so much about their status and their image that those expectations trickled down to me and my brother. Since I was practically old enough to talk, I’ve been expected to have a big “Plan” for my life. Get good grades, have smart friends from successful families, join extracurriculars, study and work towards a job in business or law.

_**sirelphaba:** Yikes. Obviously you aren’t in law school now, though. That’s a good thing, right?_

**warblersong:** I know. I’ll get to that. But yeah, it is a good thing. It’s good now, anyways.

 **warblersong:** My parents were home so little that they were like these mythological beings to me, almost. Or maybe like celebrities. When they were around, I wanted nothing more than to make them smile and be happy with me. Of course, when I was little, I wanted them to play with me or read me books or bake with me like my nannies did, but they just never wanted to and brushed me off. I felt like a nuisance more than anything else, and it was hard. It just made me want to be liked at all times by everyone around me, like this weird complex I still haven’t been able to shake.

 **warblersong:** When I got older, I figured it out. Coming home with straight As made them happy. Doing things like joining the Speech and Debate team or the chess club made them happy - or pleased with me, at least. And I was fine with that. Everything I did was in hopes of getting a nod of approval. It was all I wanted, really. I didn’t even think about having my own interests and hobbies or doing anything that was for myself.

 **warblersong:** But then I started high school, and I saw our school’s show choir perform in the commons area, and I was blown away. They were like rock stars, and they sounded incredible, completely a capella, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

 **warblersong:** Even though I’d never really sung before, I auditioned without thinking twice about it. I was the only freshman to get in. 

_**sirelphaba:** Wait, that’s amazing, though! Of course you were a natural talent, they would’ve been crazy not to accept you right away. And I’m just...really glad you found that. _

**warblersong:** I didn’t tell my parents, Kurt.

 **warblersong:** I kept it a secret. The rehearsals, concerts, even competitions. They were home so little that I got away with it for almost three years.

_**sirelphaba:** Shit, Blaine._

**warblersong:** I felt like it was just for me. And I hadn’t realized how badly I needed something like that. When I was a little kid, they stuck me in piano lessons, so I kind of still remembered how to read music, and we always had a piano at home, but I didn’t connect that much to it. Not like I did to singing, but I guess I didn’t really need music then, not when I was so young and naive.

 **warblersong:** They pulled me out of lessons when I was ten, so I knew they’d say it was a waste of time and try to get me to quit if they knew about the Warblers. So I just...kept not mentioning it, and they never asked. 

**warblersong:** I fell in love, harder than I ever thought was possible. I was so head-over-heels in love with music that I couldn’t get enough of it. I went down this endless rabbit hole where I barely slept for months, I was so busy online watching Youtube videos and reading Wikipedia pages of singers and composers and musicians and performances, and I just couldn’t stop. I printed out countless pages of sheet music and played the piano every spare moment I was home alone. 

**warblersong:** I guess at some point I spiraled off into watching Broadway boots. I stumbled upon a few on my own, but then I wanted more and more. I wanted to watch every musical ever created, basically, but I didn’t know where to find them. Eventually, that led me to Twitter.

_**sirelphaba:** And that’s where you found me._

**warblersong:** That’s right. And then not only did I have a whole world of music that was just for me, but I had a friend, too. And even though our boundaries were so firm, I didn’t mind. That just meant I got to share with you only the parts of me and my life that I loved. There weren’t any expectations. I didn’t have to worry about disappointing you.

_**sirelphaba:** You don’t have to worry about that now, either. Just so you know._

**warblersong:** I’m...pretty sure I already have. Disappointed you, I mean.

_**sirelphaba:** I wouldn’t be here right now if you had._

**warblersong:** Kurt… I know you said no more apologies, but…

_**sirelphaba:** No, I mean it. I’ve meant everything I’ve ever told you._

**warblersong:** I… Okay. I need to finish this. I’m almost there, I promise.

 **warblersong:** When it came time to apply for colleges my junior year, my parents were suddenly interested in me again. Pushing the Ivy Leagues, all of that. But I realized I wanted to study music, which meant I needed to audition for music programs at conservatories and performing arts schools.

 **warblersong:** Which meant I needed to tell them. I’ll spare you the details, but… It wasn’t pretty.

_**sirelphaba:** Blaine…_

**warblersong:** I was terrified for days, but I finally bit the bullet and told them I didn’t want to go to Harvard, I wanted to go to NYADA. I wanted to be a musician. They freaked out, and they lectured me and yelled at me, and it was just… It was terrible. I’ve never felt like more of a disappointment.

 **warblersong:** But I stood my ground, and I won out. I told myself not to give up, that music would be the only thing I’d ever have to fight for with them in order to be true to myself. So I did it. We don’t talk much anymore, but I did it. And here I am.

_**sirelphaba:** Here you are. And I’m so, so proud of you for it._

**warblersong:** I, um. Thank you. 

**warblersong:** I...don’t know that anyone’s ever told me that before.

_**sirelphaba:** Well, I am. I’m really, really proud to be your friend._

**warblersong:** I’m proud to be yours, too.

_**sirelphaba:** :)_

**warblersong:** But anyways, I guess all of that was to say… I was so busy focused on being successful, and then so focused on music, that I never thought about...dating. I had it all planned out - I still do, really. I finish school, get my music degree, stay in New York and slave away as a waiter or barista or something while I take auditions and play at open mic nights and work towards my big break. Maybe I compose, too, but as long as I end up working on Broadway, either on or off-stage… I’ll be happy.

 **warblersong:** I always figured a wife and kids would be in there somewhere. I think I said to you once that I had just assumed it was something that happened for everyone eventually, and I figured I wouldn’t be any different. No one had ever caught my eye before, but I hadn’t ever looked, either. It wasn't a priority for me like everything else was, and so I just never really thought about it.

 **warblersong:** And then you showed up.

 **warblersong:** You showed up, and you changed everything.

_**sirelphaba:** Oh._

**warblersong:** Yeah. This is embarrassing, but… in the spirit of honesty... You were just… So captivating. Your sharp wit, your sense of humor, your attitude, your confidence...not to mention I thought you were essentially the most beautiful human being I’d ever seen. But I didn’t know what that meant.

 **warblersong:** I didn’t understand why I couldn’t stop thinking about you or why I wanted to be around you all the time. It meant nothing to me until you asked me out, and I realized I wanted to say yes.

 **warblersong:** It terrified me - or I terrified myself, rather. I couldn’t handle the idea of being a disappointment to my family again, because I know under no uncertain terms how NOT okay they would be with me being...not straight. They’ve already become disillusioned with me enough for pursuing music, and I don’t know if I can go through that again. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.

 **warblersong:** But realizing how I felt about you only made it worse. It made it stronger. And it felt like everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong and like the world is shifting and tilting and I can’t keep up. I felt like I was losing my mind, Kurt. And I guess… I guess that’s why I kissed you. It all became too much, and it all spilled over, and it felt so good. 

**warblersong:** It felt incredible, actually, and I couldn’t handle that either. I still can’t think about it without feeling like I’m coming out of my own skin. 

_**sirelphaba:** I, um. I thought it felt incredible, too. I don’t know if that’s helpful or not, but...if you’re being honest, I should be honest, too. It felt incredible, and I can’t stop thinking about you, either. Not since the first day we studied together._

**warblersong:** I… Wow. Okay. Wow

_**sirelphaba:** Is that...a good wow?_

**warblersong:** I think so? I’m not sure. 

**warblersong:** Look, Kurt. I’m just...exhausted. I’m really, really tired. I’m trying so hard to figure all of this out, and it’s helping a little to share it with you, but I’m still confused. I still don’t know what I want to do or what I can handle. 

**warblersong:** I’m still afraid of wanting you. I’m afraid of what it means. I’m afraid it means I have to go to battle with my parents again, and I don’t know if I can. I never thought I’d have to do that again.

_**sirelphaba:** It doesn’t have to be scary, though. I think we can have something really, really special, Blaine, something that’s bigger than the fear and the disappointment. But you have to let yourself. We both have to let ourselves._

_**sirelphaba:** I care about you so, so much. I cared about you the second we met, and I didn’t understand why I cared about you so deeply, but it’s because we’ve known each other for years, Blaine, even without realizing it. It’s like my heart knew who you were before my mind did, and it just drew me to you. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be patient, and I’ll wait for you, and I’ll help you figure it out, however it turns out._

_**sirelphaba:** But I can’t be your experiment. I’ll be there for whatever you need, to give you a shoulder to cry on or an ear or even just give you space, but not for that._

**warblersong:** I know. God, Kurt, I never want to hurt you again. I know I haven’t been fair, and I am truly so, so sorry.

_**sirelphaba:** You still don’t have anything to apologize for, but I forgive you. Now you need to forgive yourself._

**warblersong:** I...I’ll try my best.

_**sirelphaba:** And isn’t that the most anyone can ask of another person? To try their best?_

**warblersong:** Yeah. Maybe you’re right.

_**sirelphaba:** I don't know if you know this, but..._

_**sirelphaba:** I'm always right :)_

**warblersong:** Ha. God, you really are Elphie, aren't you?

_**sirelphaba:** I really am. For better or for worse._

**warblersong:** For better, I think. Definitely for better.


	17. remarkable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! I'm back! I'm really grateful for how many people are invested in this story, and I'm grateful for your patience too :-) I know I'm behind, but...we'll get there, and so will kurt and blaine!

It feels good to be home.

Rachel had tried to get Kurt to stay in the city for longer, to push back his flight, saying that Finn was visiting the city for  _ both  _ of them, not just for her, but Kurt had stuck with his original plans. 

After everything that’s been going on, as near-resolved as most of it is by this point, Kurt still feels the residual dredges of his Thanksgiving homesickness, and he wants to be back there as soon as he can, wants to have plenty of time with his dad and to rest and to just  _ be. _

He’d see Finn at home in another week, anyways.

And right away, as soon as he lands in Ohio, he’s glad he stuck to his guns - his dad picks him up from the airport with a big, warm hug and a smile, and Carole greets him at home with homemade soup and freshly baked cookies and a hug of her own, just motherly enough to be soothing, to be comforting. With the Christmas lights strewn outside and the Christmas tree ornamented inside, it all feels cozy, gentle, good for his soul.

For maybe the first time since moving, Kurt is genuinely nothing  _ but  _ glad to be home.

He revels in the feeling, taking his time catching up with the two of them, sharing stories about New York and listening to just as many, too - stories about the shop from his dad, stories about his dad and about work from Carole, nothing particularly remarkable but important and valuable to his ears all the same.

It means it’s nearly bedtime by the time Kurt makes it upstairs to unpack his suitcases, but he doesn’t mind it. He’s tired down to his bones, from the flight and from how busy he’s been, but his heart feels soft and light, and it carries him up the staircase, luggage in tow.

He’s just gotten up to his room when his phone rings, screen lighting up with an incoming call - from Blaine.

It doesn’t concern Kurt, not right off the bat, at least. They’ve talked a decent amount in the handful of days since their conversation over instant message, a few text message exchanges and even a phone call or two, some casual chatting back and forth, some touching base on how Blaine is feeling and what he’s thinking - not coming to any resolutions but just keeping it open.

It’s become near normal, and so Kurt doesn’t hesitate in answering, leaving his suitcases at the foot of his bed for the moment in favor of pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Blaine. What’s going on?”

“Hi,” Blaine says, and his voice sounds slightly urgent, slightly pressed in a way Kurt’s never quite heard from him before. “Are you busy? Can I see you?”

“I’m… Already home in Ohio, actually,” Kurt sighs, sitting back on his bed and feeling guilty, wondering how it had slipped his mind when he’d been trying so hard to always be there, to always be available. “I’m sorry, Blaine, I should have told you when I was leaving.”

“Oh, that’s- You’re from  _ Ohio?”  _ Blaine asks, interrupting himself in his audible surprise and his shock. “Wait- I’m flying back home on the 20th to Westerville, actually.” 

Just like that, Kurt’s guilt is absolved, replaced by possibility, by serendipitous convenience they evidently could’ve had all along, but that they have  _ now-  _ or that they  _ will  _ have, in just over a week.

“I’m in Lima,” Kurt says breathlessly in disbelief, face breaking into an awed grin. He doesn’t stop it, knowing no one can see him, knowing he won’t embarrass himself with it, not over the phone. “All this time… And we were what- An hour apart? Two?”

“That’s… That’s crazy.” 

It  _ is  _ crazy. It’s nearly unimaginable, equal parts frustrating and exhilarating, his mind immediately beginning to run through the  _ what ifs  _ and the  _ almosts  _ and the  _ maybes  _ like a whirlwind, though he stops himself after mere moments of it.

They’re here now - maybe when they need each other most, or maybe when it’s harder than it could have been, but it doesn’t matter.

They’re here.

“Maybe we can get a coffee while we’re both home. Try to keep each other sane,” Kurt suggests dryly, not wanting to linger on it, not wanting to risk making Blaine uncomfortable. Besides, he knows it won’t be long before the smallness of Ohio, both in size and in mindedness, starts to get to him, no matter how glad he is to be home with his dad and Carole - and it can’t be an easy trip for Blaine, either. “What’s going on, though? Are you okay?”

“I just wanted to tell you something, and, um. Ask you something, maybe.”

It’s...oddly vague, and Kurt tries his best to be patient, not to read into it, as much as he typically likes to jump ahead of things and get them figured out, work out how to protect himself in the process before the fallout comes his way. 

But this is Blaine, and Blaine is different, so Kurt takes a breath, and he keeps himself open.

“Well, I have time to chat now, if you want.” 

Blaine is quiet for a moment, and Kurt can nearly hear him thinking through the phone, can feel the wheels turning in his head.

“Do you remember my roommate, Sam?” he starts tentatively. “He was at Callbacks? The one with the blonde-”

“Lemon-juice-bleached hair?” Kurt breaks in, speaking out of the corner of his mouth for comedic effect, as if it has any hope of translating, as if it can diffuse the nerves in his belly.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Blaine laughs, plenty indication that it’s all okay, and Kurt can’t help but join him, sinking further into his pillows as he begins to allow himself to settle, just enough. “I, um. We’ve gotten to be friends, and I...I talked to him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I told him I...think I might be gay.” Blaine says it quietly, his tone hushed but even, like it’s private but not unsure, tentative but not fleeting. “And he didn’t care. He actually acted like it wasn’t a big deal at all.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Kurt agrees, warmth swirling in his chest, blossoming into petals of pride, relief, encouragement, and there’s the part of it too, the part where Blaine’s  _ acknowledging  _ it, where he’s beginning to put spoken words to how he feels, to who he is, and it’s so, so incredible. “How… How do you feel?”

He doesn’t know what to expect - Blaine sounds okay,  _ really  _ okay, but Kurt doesn’t want to assume, and he feels like he’s holding his breath until he knows, until he  _ knows. _

“I feel strong.”

It’s simple, three words, a single adjective, but Kurt feels it in his heart and his gut and his soul,  _ feels  _ Blaine’s strength, knows it’s there immeasurably.

“I’m proud of you,” Kurt murmurs, needing to make sure Blaine knows under no uncertain terms, that Blaine hears it in his voice, out of his own mouth, not just in writing, in the messages under his anonymous username.

“Thanks, I…” Blaine trails off, and Kurt hears him draw in a breath, and he waits. “Yeah. Thank you.”

They fall into a lull of quiet then, not uncomfortable or awkward but lengthy enough to leave Kurt wondering if that’s it, if there’s anything else Blaine wants to say or tell him - and then he remembers.

“Did, um. Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

He tries to prompt it gently, but he feels nervous all the same, like his insides are clenching and twisting and his lungs are holding in his air again, like he just  _ knows  _ this is something important.

“Yes,” Blaine answers right away, shakily in a rush of a breath that fills the speaker of Kurt’s phone, as if he’s somehow trying to give the breath Kurt can’t find himself, if only it worked that way. “Well, I-I originally thought we could...before we left for the holidays, but- But I guess now we could find something in Ohio, too, um- Anyways, I guess I was wondering if you wanted to...go do something together sometime? Go out? With me?”

At once, the tension in Kurt’s body dissipates as he winds through Blaine’s rambling, smile growing as he listens, breathing coming easier again and heart lifting in his chest.

Blaine’s adorable like this, cute and earnest and eager and  _ nervous,  _ and Kurt wishes he could see him, too, see if it makes Blaine’s eyes sparkle or pool like honey or something else, something new.

Something happy.

“Like...a date?” Kurt wants to know, needs to check, to make  _ sure  _ they’re on the same page, that he isn’t assuming, that he isn’t dreaming. It’s progress - a lot of progress  _ fast,  _ and he doesn’t want to push.

He doesn’t want it to be too much, to end up overflowing and coming back to bite them.

“Like a date,” Blaine confirms in a quiet echo, and it’s all Kurt needs.

“Yeah,” he agrees, shifting against his pillows and grinning up at the ceiling, finally allowing himself to revel in the feelings, the sweetness and the excitement and the  _ hope. _ Yeah, I would really like that.”

He really, really would.

“I would, too,” Blaine says, and Kurt trusts him.

He trusts this.


End file.
